This Thing About Birthdays
by TheREALCarbyLove
Summary: CHAPTER 16: FIRSTS. It's still Carter's birthday, and this one is a day of firsts.
1. What a Difference a Year Makes

__

Title: This Thing About Birthdays

Author: Andrea

E-mail: _CarbyLove@aol.com_

Rating: R. Well, not yet … but maybe later. Definitely later.

Summary: It's Abby's birthday, but this year things are a little bit different. Same old Carby fluff with some Suby thown in for good measure.

Author's Note: So this is a little alternate universe fic. I don't usually do well writing those, but I started this one so long it go, it wasn't AU yet. But alas, time caught up with me, so now it is. Anyway, I liked it too well the way it was to change things around, so we will all just be transported to another dimension for this one, okay? We'll call it " the universe of what might have been if certain people hadn't been tragically afflicted with head-up-the-ass disease." And oh yeah, this one is actually NOT a stand alone … it has real chapters and everything. Not that it's actually finished … but um … I'm working on it. *Big props to Catherine for being a selfish bi-atch and telling me to post this one now so that maybe I'll finally finish it. Because apparently she's anxiously awaiting chapter 5. Huh, who knew? But anyway, thanks, McJackass. And well, hey, you rock my world.*

Disclaimer: Yeah, they're mine. You wanna make something of it? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This Thing About Birthdays 

Chapter 1: What a Difference a Year Makes

Birthdays suck. Oh sure, it's a well known fact that most thirty … something women aren't exactly thrilled by the prospect of another birthday. Of being a year older. For me, though, it's never been about vanity, or the fear of growing older. _Happy_ birthday has always seemed like an oxymoron to me. In my world, birthdays are nothing but unpleasant reminders. Of all the things that are wrong with my life. A time to look back and gauge the past year's failures. To be reminded, in no uncertain terms, of just how utterly alone I am. 

When I was a child, my mother forgot my birthday as often as she remembered it. And when she did remember it, I often wished she had forgotten. Like the year she showed up in the school cafeteria with a Hello Kitty cake and party favors for all the other kids sitting at my table. Which might have been nice. If I hadn't been fifteen. 

When I was married, my husband seemed to think that an appropriate way to celebrate my birthday was to go out on a romantic date … with his girlfriend, the whore. Not that I'm bitter or anything. Of course I can't say that these past few birthdays without my cheating ex have really improved. Because, for the most part, I've spent them alone, and quite often, depressed. 

That was certainly the theme of my last birthday. Just thinking about it makes me groan inwardly. The birthday when anything that could have gone wrong did. Talk about a day from hell. But that was then and this is now. 

I smile to myself, remembering the now. That's right, this year is a little different. God knows, it's been a tough one. I made some bad decisions, some major mistakes that got the year off to an inauspicious beginning, to say the least. But I've come a long way since then. I've worked hard to get my life back on track, and things have gotten better and better as the year has gone on. This year I've got some things to be proud of. Some things I've done right, for a change. And one or two things in particular that I managed to get right. Finally. And that makes me happier than I've ever been. Yep, I'm happy. It's the first birthday in a long time when I can say that without reservation. A _happy _birthday for once? Maybe. No, not maybe. Yes, definitely, a happy birthday.

With that thought, I open my eyes and lazily turn my head to look at the pillow next to mine. Empty. Well, I knew that. He had an early shift, and I knew I might not even hear him leave. Still, if I couldn't wake up in his arms, it might have been nice for him to at least wake me before he left and wish me a happy birthday. I knew he didn't forget. He wouldn't. Not after last year. He knows now, all to well, how my relapse started, and he seems to be determined to make sure the same thing doesn't happen again. The depressing birthday, that is. Not the relapse; he knows I'm stronger than that now. I have to be. I've promised him. I've promised myself. Most importantly, I've promised the baby that's growing inside me, making a little bump under my pajama top. Or rather Carter's pajama top. My hand falls automatically to that little swelling in my belly, rubbing absentmindedly, as if the child within needs to be soothed. Looking down at the ever-growing bulge, I can't help but smile as I realize this birthday will be unlike the others. No more lonely and depressing birthdays. Not now that I have this baby. And it's father, of course. My sweet Carter. He's been hinting for weeks, trying to get me to tell him what I want for my birthday. I keep insisting that for once I have all that I need. I have him. I have our baby. What more could I want? 

Well, geez, a rose on his empty pillow or a card or a note or something might have been nice. Or he could have called. On the other hand, it's nice that the phone didn't ring all morning, for once I got to sleep in. I pull on my robe and head to the bathroom. Figuring that it's my birthday, and I can sit around in my pajamas all day if I want to, I decide to skip the shower for now and head out to the kitchen. 

And there, in the middle of the table, sits a birthday cake. Chocolate frosted and leaning precariously to one side, it is certainly not the most beautiful cake I've ever seen. It's much better than that. The words "Happy Birthday, Abby" have been carefully lettered on to the top of the cake in red icing. And a birthday card sits propped up against the cake. I open it up and read it. It's perfect. Not too sickeningly sentimental, yet sweet. The handwritten note on the inside says simply, 

__

Happy Birthday, my dearest Abby, 

It's your birthday, so you can eat cake. Eat it for breakfast if you like.

Love,

John

PS Check the machine. 

The machine? Oh, the answering machine. I turn around and look at the answering machine that sits on the kitchen counter these days. The light is blinking urgently. I hit the button and wait for his voice. But nothing happens. What the hell? Is it broken? Oh wait … no, the volume is turned down. I turn it up and rewind the message. There's his voice. 

__

"Hey sweetie, happy birthday. You were sleeping so peacefully when I left that I couldn't stand to wake you. I sorry I'm not there with you right now. But I promise I'll make it up to you tonight. I have a little surprise planned. I love you."

There's a beep and another voice comes on the line. My mom wishing me a happy birthday. And then a message from my brother. And then another familiar voice. Susan. 

__

"What the hell is this Ab? It's your birthday, the day when you should be able to do anything you want, and you didn't come to work? You didn't get up at dawn for the pleasure of battling the bitter cold and ferocious winds so that you could come here and insert foley catheters? Why not? Do you need a psych consult, because … "

By now I'm giggling uncontrollably. Susan's voice fades away and I hear indistinct rumbling, until suddenly I hear John's voice again. 

__

"Push the button."

"I did push the button"

"Are you sure, Susan?"

"Of course, I'm not an idiot. See the light? The speaker is on."

"If you're sure --"

"Hey, are you two just gonna argue or are we gonna do this?"

Chuny. She then says something in Spanish which must have been an insult because then Susan reminds her in rather unpleasant … okay, *bitchy* tone of voice that SHE speaks Spanish. But before she can say anything more, a chorus of voices starts singing. To me. 

__

" … happy birthday, dear Abby. Happy birthday to you."

This singing is followed by several different voices calling out birthday wishes, Pratt offering to give me a very special birthday gift, Carter offering to have his face rearranged, and Haleh offering to lock them both in an exam room together for the rest of the day. All this frivolity comes to an abrupt halt when Kerry Weaver barks out that it's time to get back to work, the patients are waiting. But then I hear her voice, much softer, much sweeter. 

__

"I hope you have a happy birthday Abby. You and John enjoy your weekend together, and I'll see you both next week."

Now I'm just confused. "Enjoy our weekend _together_"? As far as I know I'm working tomorrow and he's working Sunday. Some weekend together. Unless … maybe that surprise he mentioned … 

A smile creeps across my face, as I realize that maybe this birthday is going to be even better than I thought. 

Wow. What a difference a year makes. 


	2. Just a Little Visit

__

Title: This Thing About Birthdays

Summary: It's Abby's birthday, but this year things are a little bit different. Same old Carby fluff with some Suby thown in for good measure.

Author's Note: This is the first time I ever tried getting inside of Carter's head. Yeah, it's a scary place. But kinda fun. I fully intend to do it more often. 

Disclaimer: Yeah, they're still mine. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This Thing About Birthdays 

Part I

Chapter 2: Just a Little Visit 

I'm standing at the admit desk chatting with Susan about the rather colorful assortment of patients we had that morning. It's not everyday that a bus full of Christ Our Redeemer choir members crashes into the front window of an adult book store. I smile ruefully, thinking that it's almost too bad that Abby has to miss this. I can only begin to imagine the sarcastic quips that might come out of her mouth. 

And then suddenly, as if just thinking about her can conjure up her presence, I sense that she's there and turn to see her just walking through the doors of the ambulance bay. I'm unreasonably happy to see her. After all, it's not as if I hadn't just been sitting of the edge of the bed watching her sleep a few hours earlier. But I've missed her . And she's just so damn cute. Even all bundled up in her big winter coat, hat pulled down over her ears to fight off the fierce Chicago cold. Especially all bundled up in her big winter coat … 

"Hey Abby, just couldn't stay away, huh? The possibility of missing out on delousing a patient was just too much for you, so you came to work after all?" Susan calls from behind me, laughter in her voice. 

But Abby doesn't seem to hear her. She's got that look on her face. THAT look. Determination and purpose. And she's directing it right at me. And frankly, I'm a little scared. Is she mad at me? What did I do? Or what didn't I do? Maybe she's mad that I've made a fuss over her birthday, but I thought that's what she wanted. 

"John Truman Carter!" Uh-oh, the middle name. I must be in trouble. She marches over to where I stand at the admit desk … here it comes … wait, she's leaning up on tip toe and taking my face in her hands. My eyes close as she brings her lips to mine in a sweet little kiss. Her lips are soft and taste vaguely like chocolate. I can't help but smile around the kiss. She pulls back and looks at me, still holding my face in both her hands. She smiles and looking right in my eyes, just inches from her own she says quietly, in her softest, sweetest voice, "You are the sweetest man I've ever met." 

Oh, well, I guess she's not mad at me. "So what brings you by, Abby?" I can't help but ask in my best innocent voice. Inside I'm practically turning cartwheels. I made her happy. I love to make her happy. To see that smile. The one that she reserves just for me. I look down at her now, a little half smile playing on her lips. 

"Oh, just a little visit. I wanted to thank you in person."

"So you , uh, liked the cake?" I ask as she releases my face and takes a step back. 

"Yep. And the card and the phone calls. But that cake was really good. I had no idea you could bake." 

"Ha. Neither did I. I was gonna just buy one, but …" I shrug as my voice trails off. But I figured a hand made cake would have this effect. She tries to act so tough and unflappable and completely unsentimental. But I know better. I know how much these kinds of gestures mean to her. And I can see how she appreciates it in that smile she gives me. She may not overwhelm me with mushy sentiment, but she doesn't have to for me to know how she feels. It's really pretty cool, this thing we have going. 

"Wait a minute," Susan starts, "you baked her a cake?" She turns to Abby, "He baked you a cake?" 

"Uh-huh."

"Was it any good?"

"Yeah," Abby tells Susan and then turns to look at me, "It was the best birthday cake I've ever tasted."

"Wow, I'm impressed."

"It was no big deal. Just a box mix. It's not like I made it from scratch or anything."

"Carter," Susan says, "the only thing any of my boyfriends ever made me for my birthday was …"

"Angry, frustrated and disappointed?" Abby finishes for her.

"Hmm ... Basically. But Carter's good with birthdays. One year he even managed to salvage one of my most memorable birthdays. Remember, _John_?"

"Yeah, I remember. That was some fun, huh?"

Abby's giving me a slightly suspicious look now. I can't help but laugh at the glint of jealously I see in her eyes. I walk around the side of the admit desk, and drape my arm over her shoulders. I kiss her cheek and reassure her, "Don't worry, baby, that was long before you. And … well, all I did was share my champagne with her on the roof." 

"And you can't even imagine how much I needed a drink." 

"Yeah, I think _I _probably can." Abby says. But she's laughing. This must be a good sign, that she can joke about her addiction , her recovery. I squeeze her shoulder to remind her of how proud of her I am. 

"Oh God, open mouth, insert foot." Susan says. "Abby, I'm sorry, that was a stupid thing to say." 

"No, it wasn't. It's fine Susan, really. I know exactly what you mean. I know it all too well. But, luckily, this won't be a birthday that threatens to drive me to drink." With that she turns and wraps her arms around my waist, reaching up to kiss me again. Just a quick peck on the lips, and then an amazing grin. "In fact, this birthday is already better than the rest of them combined."

"So I'm not the only one prone to horrific birthdays?" Susan asks. Abby pulls away from me and turns toward Susan. Oh boy, here comes the girl talk and probably a contest to see who has had the WORST birthday. This seems like a good time to check on the chest pain, diagnosis: indigestion, in curtain 3. I slip away from Abby with a little pat to her butt which elicits a wicked little grin from her, and perhaps an obscene little gesture with her tongue. Or was she just trying to get a remnant of frosting? My eyes must widen, because she bursts out laughing, shaking her head at me. Guess it wasn't frosting after all. Ah, that's my Abby. Poor Susan looks rather confused. However, I'm sure I can count on Abby to fill her in while I'm off winning the war against heartburn. 

When I come back out to the admit desk a few minutes later there's no sign of Abby or Susan. 

"Randi? Have you seen Abby?" I ask our desk clerk du jour. 

"Yeah, I saw her. And I saw that ridiculous get-up she's wearing. Really, Dr. C, for a guy made of money, you would think you could maybe get your girlfriend some decent clothes. You know, I know this great little boutique, where I'm sure you could find a great birthday gift. And maybe some nice sexy, lingerie, huh? Like a gift for both of you." She imparts this bit of advice while chomping on her gum and looking at me expectantly. I can only chuckle. 

"I've got the birthday gift covered, but thanks, I'll keep that in mind." 

"Okay, whatever. The lounge." 

"What?"

"She's in the lounge. Abby." 

"Oh, okay. Thanks." I turn and push open the door to the lounge and find Abby sitting the couch, eating something out of plastic container. She looks up at me guiltily and I slide onto the couch next to her. With a little kiss to her cheek, "Happy birthday." She smiles around her fork. " How are you feeling?" 

"We're fine." she says, as she swallows hastily. 'We.' I love it when she does that. I rest my hand lightly on her slightly protruding belly. The other half of the 'we' is in there. 

"Feel anything yet?" 

"Hmm … not really. Little flutters maybe. Assuming it's not just gas. But nothing as substantial as a kick. Any day now, though." She rests her hand next to mine. Well this would be a convenient time for our little peanut to kick and make it's presence known. I try to coax a response by pushing gently on Abby's gently swollen belly, hoping to feel a little kick from the baby. But, of course, this being a child that we made, no such thing is going to happen. Stubborn little thing. God, I love it already. Just about as much as it's mother. I lean down and kiss the belly. Abby's hand rests on my head as I whisper nothing in particular to the baby. Of course it can't understand what I'm saying, but it should be able to hear my voice, and I want it to know it's daddy as soon as possible. But this would look mighty peculiar to anyone who happened to walk in right now, so I give the belly one last kiss. 

"So what are you eating?" I ask as I straighten up. A sheepish look from Abby. 

"Birthday cake. I brought you a piece so you could sample your work, but … uh … the baby was hungry."

"The _baby_, huh?" 

"Yep. So we had to have some of your piece. But it was a big piece so … here, try some." She shoves a forkful of cake into my mouth before taking a bite for herself. Hmm, she's right. This cake isn't bad at all. "Pretty good, huh?"

"Yeah, not bad. Even if it was lopsided, at least it tastes good." 

"It wasn't lopsided, it was …" she starts. " Okay, maybe it was lopsided, but who cares? You made it yourself, and that makes it better than all the most beautiful bakery cakes. But just so you know, I'm never letting you give me a haircut."

"I don't really think it's the same thing."

"Maybe not, but I'm not taking any chances." Since we've finished off the cake, she gets up to put the container in the sink. As she walks across the room, I see what Randi was talking about. 

"Abby," I blurt out as I laugh, "_What _are you wearing?" 

She turns from the sink and leans back against it, facing me as I sit on the couch. "This old thing? I don't know … something I found in your closet." Well, that much was evident. Some sort of nylon warm-up pants of mine, rolled up about fifty-seven times and one of my big bulky sweaters.

"I can see that. But the question is 'why are you wearing my clothes?' "

She gives me a 'duh' look, as if maybe I left my mind behind on the el this morning. "Uh … hello? Mine don't fit anymore. I'm not sure why, but I think it might have something to do with _your kid completely taking over my body_."

"Oh well, you know, I hear there is this new revelation in fashion called 'maternity clothes'. Maybe you've heard of it. I think you should buy some. It's only gonna get worse and you can't wear my clothes forever." 

She wrinkles her nose adorably, "Yuck. Nothing but frilly lace and bows and t-shirts that say 'baby on board'. No thanks." 

"Because that ensemble you are wearing is so incredibly attractive."

"Could you maybe _try_ to be just a little more sympathetic? After all, this is all your fault anyway. YOU did this to me."

"Oh well, that's a relief. Because that guy on the first floor gives you some strange looks sometimes. I was beginning to worry."

"Henry? Henry is about a hundred years old and told me I remind him of his granddaughter. Sorry, you're not getting out of this whole fatherhood thing that easy. Nice try, though."

"Hmm, okay then. I guess if this is all my responsibility … although, I have to say, I distinctly remember that you had a part in it …" 

"Who pulled who into that shower?" 

"Which time? C'mon, Abby, it's not like you've never pulled me into the shower … the bathtub … the closet. You certainly have. Plenty of times, in fact. Besides, you don't know when it happened."

"Oh, don't I? How can you be so sure?" 

"We provided way too many opportunities to pin it down. Anyway, don't change the subject. We were saying it's time for you to get a new wardrobe."

"No, you were saying that. I was saying something along the lines of 'over my dead body.' " 

"Come on, Ab. It can't all be that bad."

"What if it is?"

"Well, then … just buy regular clothes. But big enough to fit you. And hopefully not quite as long or as baggy as my pants. Because there's enough room for you, the baby, me, and probably Henry too, in those pants you are wearing now." This gets her laughing. 

"Well, okay then. You win. Because the last thing I need is you trying to get in my pants. Well, any more than usual."

"Oh, no, Ab. You are the one who is always trying to get in my pants. Hell, you're in my pants right now." 

She snorts, "You wish." She crosses the room and settles down on the couch with me, straddling my lap. I can't help but sigh at having her so close to me, pressed up against me. She kisses me softly, and at my moan, she says quietly, "That's what I thought. But you'll just have to save that thought for later."

"Later, huh? Is that a promise?" 

"Oh yeah, you can count on it. After all, it IS my birthday. I'm expecting an especially nice gift from you." 

The fact that she's whispering this against my lips while running her fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck, is having an effect on me that really isn't the kind of thing that I want to happen in the middle of the work day.

"Uh-oh." She's whispering into my ear. "You're definitely going to have to button up that lab coat for a while, aren't you?" Wicked, she is absolutely wicked. I should push her off me right now, before it gets any worse than it already is. But she smells so good, and feels so soft, and God, I miss her when we aren't together. This is really all I want, to have her here in my arms like this. I have to remind myself that we are in a public place. It's the only thing keeping me from throwing her down on the couch and ravaging her right here. Okay, maybe I am always trying to get into her pants. Sue me. 

"Oh, for God's sake, would you two just get a room?" 

I look up to see Deb giving us her best disapproving look. Only the look doesn't quite extend to her eyes, and I figure that she's really amused. Abby seems completely unphased , "We had one," she mumbles into my ear without showing any signs of ceasing her attack. Okay, so it's her birthday. So she's pregnant, and all those hormones are floating around and making her rather … well, horny. God knows how much I normally enjoy that aspect of this whole thing, but this really isn't the place. I put my hands around her waist and lift her off my lap, sitting her down next to me. 

"Hmmph," Abby snorts, giving me her best, 'I'm-so-put-upon' look. She's cute when she pouts. 

I pat her knee and lean over to whisper, "I'll make it up to you later." 

"You'd better." 

"Oh, I will."

"Oh… God." Deb takes her coffee and heads back out of the lounge. 

"I should really get back to work. But I've only got a couple more hours."

"And then I get my surprise?" Her eyes are twinkling, and she looks like a little kid.

"Yep. So what are you gonna do this afternoon?" 

"Hmm, shopping, I guess." 

"New clothes?"

"I guess. Maybe I should get something nice for tonight?"

"If you want." 

"What does that mean? Should I wear something nice or something casual or what?"

"No hints. Wear anything you want. Whatever you are most comfortable in. It's your birthday after all."

"I'm pretty comfortable in this."

"Okay, something you are comfortable in that isn't …"

"What?" 

"That." 

"Okay, I don't know what I'm supposed to be looking for, but maybe I can find it at Bloomies."

"Did someone say Bloomies?" Susan asks, as she crosses the lounge to her locker.

"Abby's going on a birthday shopping spree."

"She is?"

"I am?"

"You are." 

"Right now?" Susan asks, sounding intrigued. 

"Looks like it." Abby says somewhat reluctantly, but then her face perks up. "Hey, are you off now?" she asks, seeing Susan pulling out her coat. And hat. And scarf. And mittens. And ear muffs. Gotta love Chicago winters.

"Yep … why? You want some company?" 

"I'd love some. Bloomingdales, here we come."

Oh God, Abby and Susan taking Bloomingdales by storm. "I'll call the store and warn them."

"Ha ha." Abby, who has gotten herself all wrapped back up in her winter gear, comes over to kiss my cheek. "I'll meet you at home … you'd better have my surprise all ready."

"And you'd better be wearing something other than my clothes." 

"Like what?"

"I told you, no hints. Now go. Have fun. Break the bank." 

"We can do that." She says as she heads over to the door to join Susan. She turns to blow me a kiss and then they are gone, already laughing and talking conspiratorially. Sometimes I wonder why I encourage that friendship. I don't want to know what they say about me when I'm not around. Oh well, too late now. Guess I'd better just get back to work. And hope that Abby really doesn't break the bank


	3. Record Mood Swings and a Big Brown Bag

__

Title: This Thing About Birthdays

Author's Note: This chapter is going out to Catherine. For so many reasons. But maybe mostly for saying that this is one of her favorite fics ever, "It's so funny and fuzzy and filled with a little fucker...what's not to love?" and that it is "well worth posting" … ah, she's such a good liar. Thanks for that McLies-A-Lot. 

Disclaimer: You can't PROVE they're not mine. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This Thing About Birthdays

Part I

Chapter 3: Record Mood Swings and a Big Brown Bag 

"Okay, Abby, where to first?" Susan asks me. 

"Uh … I dunno." It's only now that it occurs to me that I've invited Susan to come shopping with me. For maternity clothes. Okay, this is going to necessitate telling her I'm pregnant. Or letting her figure it out. 

"Well, what are we here for?" 

I shrug. "New clothes, I guess."

Susan looks me up and down, taking in the day's ensemble. "That's a very good idea. What the hell are you wearing anyway?"

"Carter's clothes."

"Why?"

I take a deep breath. "Mine don't seem to fit very well these days." I busy myself reading the store directory and then step into the elevator. 

Susan follows behind. "Oh, I get it. Yeah, I know how you feel. The same thing happened to me."

"Oh, really?" If the same thing happened to Susan that happened to me, she really has been holding out on me.

"Sure. I gained a few pounds over the holidays, too. Although, I still fit into my clothes. That must have been some pie they had at the Carter family Christmas dinner. It's always the dessert that does it, isn't it?"

"Yeah, something like that." The elevator door opens, revealing our destination. After we step off the elevator, Susan looks around. 

"Hey Ab, I think this is the wrong floor. You said you wanted new clothes. I don't see the ladies' clothes here. I see baby clothes and I see maternity clothes, but I don't see any clothes for you." 

I just stand there and look at her, wondering if it's gonna sink in. She just looks confused. Okay, a little help. "This is the right floor." I take her arm and start dragging her toward the maternity section. 

"But Abby … this is the _maternity_ clothes." Oh God, and she's a doctor. Am I going to have to draw her a picture? 

"Yeah, Susan. I know that. I'm here to buy _maternity_ clothes." I think the light is starting to dawn because she suddenly looks startled. Better put her out of her misery. "Because I'm pregnant." 

"AAAAHHHHHHH!!" She screams loud enough for the entire floor of Bloomingdales to hear her. "Oh my God, you're pregnant!?!" A little louder Susan, I don't think they quite heard you back at County, why don't you try again? She grabs me into a big hug and rocks me back and forth. "Oh, congratulations! Abby! Why didn't you tell me? Oh, this is so exciting." 

"Thanks." She drops her arms and looks at me with a big grin. 

"I can't believe you're gonna have a baby. God, I can't believe little Carter is going to be a father." 

I give her a funny look … I think at the use of the word 'little'. I forget sometimes that she knew him back when he was a wet-behind-the-ears med student. But it seems that she interprets my look in a different way. 

"Oh God. I mean, _Carter_ is going to be a father, right?"

I can't help but laugh. "Well, you know, it's between him and Frank. So I'm keeping my fingers crossed." She's just looking at me with a shocked expression on her face. "God, Susan. Of _course, _Carter is going to be a father. Geez, you think highly of me, huh?" 

"Gotcha." She grins. Oh, okay. She was just kidding. I hope she was just kidding. "So _why_ didn't you tell me?"

I shrug. "We didn't tell anybody yet. Well, actually, we finally told his family. At Christmas."

"That must have been some fun." 

"Oh yeah, you bet. They looked at me like I was something they might scrape off the bottom of their shoes. And then they realized I'm incubating the Carter family heir. It's like they want to hate me, but now they can't. It's a mess. But John's been great. He says they'll come around. And if they don't, it's their loss."

"Sounds like a good philosophy. After all, what can you do?" 

"Spend as much of the family trust fund as possible on ugly maternity clothes?" I ask, showing off that gold card Carter insisted on taking out for me. 

"Yeah, that'll show them. Let's go." 

We start wandering through the maternity section , where I find that not everything is totally hideous. Not exactly the cutest fashions ever, but I think I can probably find something. But absolutely no jeans with that big elastic panel in the front. I'd rather wear Carter's sweatpants until I give birth. It doesn't take long for me to have an armload of clothes to try on, and Susan seems to keep digging up stuff with potential too. Between the two of us, we look like we are trying to dress an army. An army of pregnant women, apparently. Oh well, John did say to break the bank. 

"So when's the big day?" Susan asks. She's holding up an eggplant colored sweater. It's pretty. No bows, no lace. I nod as I answer. 

"Oh well, you know how it is. They always give you a date, but it's just a guess, you know how hard it can be to pin these things down, but ..." I start.

"It's hard to pin down your wedding day?"

I practically choke on my gum. "My _what_?"

"_Weeeedddding _day." She repeats it like maybe diminished mental capacity is a side effect of pregnancy. "So come on … when's it gonna be? When are you getting married?" 

"We're not."

"You're not getting married?"

"No. I mean … no. We … well. Um, he … hasn't asked." I kinda shrug and give her my best 'oh well' look while I inspect a pair of gray wool pants. No elastic panels, that's a good sign. 

"Wait a minute. Are you telling me that you are carrying his child, but John Carter hasn't offered to make an honest woman out of you yet?" 

"It hasn't come up." 

"_Yet_. But don't you think it's sort of one of those things that would be better taken care of sooner, rather than later? I mean, you know … " She looks pointedly at my belly. 

I smooth the sweater down over my bump and understand what she means. Seems this baby is intent on making it's presence known to the whole world. And why shouldn't it? After all, it's scheduled to put in an appearance in a little over four months. And now that I can't even squeeze into my clothes anymore … well, it's just a matter of time before the whole world knows. And then the whole world will know that Abby screwed up again. 

No, that's not right. This baby is not a mistake. A surprise, sure. But not an accident. And accident, a mistake … those are things you would take back if you could. I wouldn't ever take this happy little surprise back. And I'm proud to be carrying this baby. Our baby. John's and mine. Our little love child. And it's a good thing. Okay, the timing wasn't the best, but there's nothing I can do about that. It's happening now, and I am bound and determined to do this right. And I've been doing everything right so far. No alcohol, obviously. No smoking. No caffeine. Well, okay, not much caffeine. Plenty of rest, vitamins, healthy food, exercise … everything the pregnancy books say to do. But if I'm not married to my baby's father, does that automatically make me a bad mother? Am I screwing up my kid before it even comes into the world? I feel the tears brimming, and I try to will them to stop. Before this pregnancy, I could count on one hand the number of times that I'd cried in past five years. But now it seems like I would need both hands to count the number of times I cry in day. Damn stupid hormones. 

"Abby?" I try to brush away the tears with the back of my hand. My voice, when it comes out, is quiet and broken, in spite of how hard I try to sound sure in my convictions. 

"We don't need to be married to have a baby together." I'm practically whispering now. "I love him. He loves me. We love this baby. What else matters?" 

"Nothing. You're right, that's what matters." She comes over and puts her arm around my shoulders. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry."

"It's okay. You didn't. I mean, everything makes me cry these days. For Pete's sake, commercials make me cry. Just this morning, I was bawling at a stupid TV commercial."

"Lots of pregnant women cry at diaper commercials or any of those sentimental ones, especially if there are babies in them. Was it that one for that new 4-D ultrasound, with that song, you know _'the first time, ever I saw your face'_ ? Because that one makes _me_ tear up sometimes."

"It was for blueberry muffin mix. And there weren't even any kids in it. Just the Pillsbury Dough Boy. But he's so cute, and when he giggled, I burst into tears." 

"Okay, that is pretty serious. Better steer clear of pastry commercials. Or all baked goods, if fact. And it's probably not a good idea to watch _A Wedding Story _either." 

I laugh. I can't help it. "I was married before, you know. It's not all that it's cracked up to be. It's a piece of paper, you know? It can't fix everything. It can't really change anything. Not the bad stuff anyway. And, besides, I happen to think that it's more important for a child to be born into a loving relationship than to be born into a marriage. Just because your parents are married is no guarantee."

"You're not kidding. If you want proof, just drop by Cookie and Henry's sometime. They're married. I usually wish they weren't. But you and Carter … that's a whole other story, Abby. You two could make it. You'd be great." 

"I don't even know if I want to get married again. I think I learned that lesson the hard way." 

Yeah, tough words, Abby. But if that's so true, how come I can't say the word 'married' without my voice breaking? The truth is, I'm not sure how I feel about marriage anymore. The last one was a disaster. But that doesn't mean that all marriages are bad. Maybe it would be kind of nice to be married again. And if there is anyone in this world that I would be willing to go down that road with, it's Carter. He seems to have that effect on me. There was a time when I couldn't have imagined having the strength or the guts to take a risk on motherhood, no matter how much I may have wanted it. And look at me now, thanks to him. In more ways than one. I mean, I never could have done this without him. But I never could have done it without _him_. That is, I don't think I ever could have gone through with it with someone else. Last time, I couldn't even go through with it with my _husband_. 

So marriage certainly isn't the most important thing. The most important thing is being in love with a wonderful man who loves you and who will be a fantastic father. And who also happens to be the only man who you would ever want to be the father of your children. The only man who could ever be their father. I know it's true. It is. But still, I realize that this baby will be a Carter too. And so will any others. Will I be the only one in my house who isn't a Carter? And to make matters worse, I still have my ex-husband's last name. Oh God, Carter and I have to get married … just so I can have his name. But of course, he hasn't asked. So maybe it's not what he wants. Maybe I'm not good enough for him. Or his family. But he's so excited about the baby. Really happy. So what does that mean? Am I good enough or not? Good enough to bear his child, but not good enough to marry and share the honorable Carter name? What am I, his breeding machine? 

"Jackass! Stupid goddamn asshole! " Susan looks startled at this sudden outburst. And rightfully so, since, after all, she wasn't inside my head to partake of the insane ramblings.

"Well, excuse me! I said I was sorry." She sticks her tongue out at me and now I'm laughing. From crying to laughing to raging to laughing in like three minutes. I think that's a new mood swing record. Maybe I should write it down. Oh, I can't wait to tell John, he'll be so glad he missed it. I mean, the jackass … I can't wait to tell the jackass. No, that's not fair. It's not like he refused to marry me, he just didn't ask. Okay, maybe he thinks I don't want to get married. Maybe I should throw out some hints. Maybe I should ask him. Maybe … 

"Abby? I know you are having a great time crying and swearing and laughing here in the middle of Bloomies, but this armload of clothes is getting ridiculously heavy so what do you say we take this party to the dressing room? You are definitely going to need a Big Brown Bag for all of this stuff." 

"Okay, let's go … But Susan? If this is your idea of a party, you REALLY need to get out more. And isn't it _Large_ Brown Bag? " 

"Large Brown Bag? Now, Abby … that's just stupid. Big Brown Bag, that has a good ring. But Large Brown Bag? C'mon …" 

"Hey, watch what you say … I might start crying again." 

"And I might just leave. Then you'll have to lug this enormous armload of clothing around all by yourself." 

"You won't leave."

"Why not?"

"Carter would kill you. If you leave me here to carry all those clothes the ten feet from here to the dressing room, he'd have a fit. Trust me." This requires an eye roll to denote all that I put up with.

"Overprotective?"

"Ha! Understatement of the century … I don't care if there are 98 years left in the century, that right there will win hands down. The man would spoon feed me if I would let him. I think he would be happiest if I would just stay in bed all day. He's always telling me to go lie down. But hey, he does do all the housework. I haven't had to lift a finger since he found out he knocked me up. I don't know if it's guilt or just first time father nerves, but I'm gonna try and enjoy it. Even if it can be annoying as hell. Yesterday? He really DID spoon feed me. After the midnight ice cream run. Like maybe getting the spoon to my face was gonna tire me out inordinately or something. Wouldn't want to stress out the baby by lifting my arm up and down with ice cream on a spoon or anything. Can you believe it?"

"No. That's horrible. Rotten jerk. I don't know why you put up with him, Ab." 

"Cause he's cute." 

"Yeah, and smart. And rich. And funny. And sweet. And now you're having his baby. And it's all thanks to me. You know? I think I hate you."

"Well, maybe we'll name the baby after you."

"What if it's a boy?"

"A boy named Sue. What's wrong with that? Now come on, time to go try on some ugly maternity clothes." 

"Yeah, Abby. It really sucks to be you." 

"Jealous?" 

"No, not at all." 

Somehow I don't think she means that. But she's laughing behind that armload of clothes she's dragging to the dressing room. Well, this little fashion show should only take a few hours and most of my positive self-image. But as I pat that little bump under my sweater, I figure it's worth it. 


	4. Girl Talk

__

Title: This Thing About Birthdays

Rating: Uh, yeah … still R … probably more R than before because you know how 'girl talk' can get.

Author's Note: A long author's note for a long chapter. First, a big thanks to everyone who is reading this, and especially for everyone who has taken the time to review. As I mentioned, this is a long chapter … hopefully, it's not too wordy. Enjoy it while you can, for chapter 5 is still not done. But I *am* working on it. So this chapter is for Jules who asked that I throw some Lusan into the mix. And for Catherine again, because I know how she loves this chapter. Quoteth Catherine: "I mean...you've got Suby shopping at Bloomies...going through each other's purses...answering each other's phones to scare the shit out of Carter...It's just wonderful." Consider that your chapter summary. Now just read. 

Disclaimer: What do you mean, "they're missing" … well, uh, I don't have them. Nope, it wasn't me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This Thing About Birthdays 

Part I

__

Chapter 4: Girl Talk

My ass is ringing. I'm sprawled on a chair in yet another dressing room, thinking about taking a short little nap. All this shopping is going to kill me. Honestly, I don't know how she does it. She's midway through a pregnancy and should be exhausted, but instead she's running circles around me. Maybe it's because Carter is always trying to make her lie down, and so she's full of pent up energy. Maybe it's because I worked the midnight to noon shift and I haven't slept in something like 36 hours. Whatever the reason, I am tired. Too tired to realize that it's probably NOT my ass that is ringing. 

"Hey Susan? That's Carter's ring. Can you get it? My phone's in my bag." Abby calls this out as she is in the dressing room trying on MORE jeans. She's had an inspiration and is sure this attempt to find acceptable jeans will work. So here we are back in the dressing room. Again. And I'm watching her stuff. Of which there seems to be quite a lot. And now I have to find her phone. In her bag. Okay, her bag. Oh yes, I'm sitting on it. No wonder I thought my ass was ringing. Geez, this thing is huge. What the hell does she have in here? I start rummaging around .

"Abby, you really need to clean out your bag more often." I say as I'm trying to find the damn phone.

"You never know when you might need that stuff." She counters.

"You need a handful of fuzzy Lifesavers, a broken pen, and a tube of lip gloss with no gloss in it?"

"Well …"

"And condoms? Abby … why the hell are you carrying around condoms? You can't possibly need them. I mean, isn't that sort of like locking up the chicken coop after all the hens have escaped?" 

"Okay," She giggles, "maybe I do need to clean out my purse once in while."

"Yeah, ya think? What was your first clue? That your how-many-months pregnant now and still carrying around half a dozen tampons?"

"Yeah, you can have those, if you want. The condoms, too." Like I'm gonna need those … well, you never know. Okay, I'm more likely to need them than Abby, and it never hurts to be prepared. "Susan? The phone?" Oh yeah, the phone. Here it is. Finally … under a tin of mints, a hairbrush, a package of peanut butter crackers, a box of raisins, some beef jerky, a bag of M&Ms and a pack of batteries. Yeah, wouldn't want to be without beef jerky in an emergency. 

"Do I want to know what the batteries are for, Abby?"

"Answer the PHONE, would you?" Oh right, it's still ringing. Okay. 

"Hey, Carter."

"Susan?"

"Got it right the first time." 

"Where's Abby? Is she okay? Did something happen?" He sounds frantic, panicked. I know it's evil, but I can't resist teasing him. Serves him right for driving Abby nuts with the overprotective routine. 

"She's fine … I'm just watching her stuff while she climbs the rock wall here at the sporting goods store. I just hope she doesn't fall again."

"_WHAT?!? _Oh my God, where are you? Just stay right there. I'll be there in no time."

"Carter …"

"Oh my God, I can't believe …"

"CARTER!" 

"What?"

"I was just kidding. She's in the dressing room trying on her five hundredth pair of jeans. Just calm down, _Daddy._"

"You know, Susan, that's not funny. You practically gave me a heart attack. … Wait, what did you just call me?" 

"You heard me."

"Abby told you?"

"Well, she didn't exactly have much choice. Maternity clothes, remember?" I remind him as I burst into laughter. 

"Right, good point."

"So congratulations! I can't believe you didn't tell me." I can't believe I didn't figure it out either. 

"Well, you know …" He sounds kinda sheepish.

"Yeah, I know. But hey, I think it's great." 

"Thanks, so do we."

"Yeah, I kinda got that from Abby. So do you want to talk to her?"

"Actually, it's probably better that I talk to you." I recognize the sound of his voice and realize he must have something up his sleeve.

"Okay … what's the plan?" 

We've sorted it all out by the time Abby comes back out of the dressing room. 

"What did he want?" 

"To check on you, of course." Close enough to the truth. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, trying her best to look like she can't stand the fuss he makes over her. "And he said not to rush, I guess they are getting slammed, so he might be awhile." 

"Oh." The disappointment on her face is obvious. 

"But he said he'll make it up to you. And I really don't want to know that means. I mean, I KNOW what it means, but no details, please." She starts to giggle. Okay, that's better. I was afraid she might burst into tears again. 

"He's been 'going to make it up to me' all day. I think that's the third time I've heard that. So whatever this surprise is that he's got planned, it had better be damn good."

"I'm sure it will be." I hope she doesn't start quizzing me to see what I know. Best to change the subject. "So how are those jeans working out for you?" Please, God, let her be happy with them.

"I like them." Thank you , Lord. "They look good, don't you think?"

"Yeah, and they aren't baggy like the others that you bought. But I thought you said no elastic panels … so what gives? How can they fit so well in the legs and still fit around your waist?"

"Ultra low rise." She says with a smirk. "Nowhere near my waist. If I actually had a waist anymore. See? Look." She hikes up her sweater, exposing her round little belly, the pair of very low riding jeans resting just below the bulge. "And they I have to say, my ass doesn't look half bad in these" she says as she turns around her admire her butt in the three way mirror. 

"Oh my God, aren't you afraid those are going to fall off?"

"With the hips I've got these days? I don't think I have to worry about that." 

"Okay, but how do you plan to wear your pregnant-lady-granny-panties under those things?"

"I don't. You can keep your granny-panties, thanks."

"Well what are you planning on wearing instead of enormous underwear?"

"The same thing I'm wearing now."

"If you're gonna tell me that 'nothing' is what you are wearing now, I don't want to know." This one gets me a famous Abby eye roll. 

"I'll tell you though, I'd rather wear nothing than that maternity underwear. Did you see that stuff? I family of four could camp in there. No way, forget it. It's bad enough I had to buy actual _maternity_ clothing."

I look over at her hand absent-mindedly roaming over her still exposed belly. "It's small price to pay though. I mean, it's not for nothing. You've got a baby in there."

"Yeah."

"You're so lucky." I hope that sounds sincere. I mean it. She IS lucky. And I'm happy for her. For them. Two of my closest friends. Still, I can't help but feel a little … what? Jealous? Sad? It's funny, there was a time when motherhood would have been absolutely the last goal that I would have had. But then my Little Susie came along and changed all that. I remember the times when it was just she and I, and I know that no matter what else happens in my life, that will always be one of my happiest times. I miss her. I miss the little storybook life we had for a time there. Yeah, I guess I am a little jealous as I look over at Abby gazing with a goofy grin at her rounded belly. She looks over and sees me still staring, lost in my own thoughts.

"It's weird. Sometimes it doesn't feel real. I used to almost forget, you know? I mean, as the day went on and I got busy, it would just sort of slip my mind. And then I'd remember all of a sudden, and be almost blown away by how lucky I really am. Of course, now it's a little harder to forget. All I have to do is look down. And to think, last week this little bump wasn't even here. I might have been losing touch with my waist even then, but I didn't have this little round pooch. And then I just woke up one morning a few days ago, and I'd 'popped'. And suddenly it seemed very real. And suddenly I couldn't fit into even my baggiest pants. Oh well, I think I prefer this. Now I look pregnant, not just fat."

"You didn't look fat. You just looked … cold."

"Cold?" 

"The big, baggy sweaters all the time?" 

"Oh … right. Well, Chicago winters you know." She calls over her shoulder as she heads back to the dressing room. 

"And an expanding waistline, don't forget."

"Yeah, that too."

By the time I've gathered all Abby's bags together, she's returned from the dressing room. She's back in that stunning outfit made up of Carter's closet rejects, and we head off to pay for her latest find. 

"Oh my God, is this all _my_ stuff?" She asks, surveying the assortment of brown bags. 

__

"No, it's not _all_ your stuff."

"Oh, good."

"This one is mine." I hold up the Small Brown Bag that contains my one purchase, a Christmas ornament off the clearance table. A little blonde haired angel that reminded me of my niece. I'll have to save for Susie until next Christmas.

"I can't believe I bought all this stuff."

"Think Carter'll be mad?"

"Hey, you heard him. He told me to 'break the bank.' I'm just trying my best to do that."

"Well, I think you've been pretty successful. I had no idea you like to shop so much." 

"Yeah, it's just not normally one of those things that I can indulge. But during the quarantine, when *some of us* were in Barbados while *others of us* were stuck in an abandoned hospital for two weeks, Chen asked me what I would do if we were the last people on earth. I said a shopping spree. Although I guess a looting spree would be a better description. I mean, if we were the last people on earth, who would I pay for the stuff? And why bother anyway?" 

"Hey, being in Barbados wasn't all that great. All I got out of it was a tan. And just look where being stuck in quarantine with Carter for two weeks got you." I say pointedly. She just laughs. "So this shopping spree is like a dream come true for you, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess. Only then I wasn't thinking about buying drawstring pants and tent-like shirts along with pink and blue sleepers in newborn sizes. Not that I'm knocking it. Especially the baby clothes part. It's all so cute. And so tiny." 

"Yeah, it's hard to believe anything can start off that small. But believe me, they get big so fast, it's unbelievable. So what _were_ you thinking about buying?"

"Huh? Oh, on that fantasy shopping spree? I dunno. Shoes, probably. Nothing I love more than a brand new pair of boots." Since Abby's paid for her gravity defying jeans, we start walking back toward the center of the store. 

"Hey, now you're talking. Let's go find the shoes. After all you're gonna need some new ones. Those sneakers you are wearing just aren't gonna cut it with your new clothes."

"Susan. I have other shoes at home."

"Yes, but I'm not about to let you leave this store in those clothes. You're putting on some of your new stuff. It's bad enough that I've had to be seen in public with you in that … whatever you call that, all this time. So come on, let's go change." 

It turns out that getting Abby into her newly purchased clothes and touring the shoe department is done in record time. She fell in love with a pair of boots -- what else -- right away, and decided that she felt guilty enough about buying those, it was time to retire from our shopping spree. Which would have been fine with me, but I'd promised Carter that I would keep her occupied in the store until 6:00. That meant about two more hours to spend in this store. Somehow. Think. Think. Aha, I got it. 

"Hey, are you hungry? I'm starving. Let's go get a snack." 

"Am I hungry? Eating for two remember? I'm _always_ hungry." 

We find the restaurant and sit down. Abby's packages are spread out all around. Under our feet, on the extra seats, even a couple on the top of the table. 

Abby's giggling as she surveys our surrounding. "You know Carter kept encouraging me to buy a new wardrobe, and he assured me that I didn't have to worry about the money, but I'm not sure this is what he had in mind. And I really feel kinda bad about this."

"Yeah. You look like you feel really bad."

"Well, I would. But you know, the bill will go to the one of the family corporations. And after that lovely Christmas dinner, I think buying me a new wardrobe to accommodate me while I'm gestating their heir is the least they could do."

"That bad?" 

"It was pretty bad."

Before she can get into the dirty little details, our waitress appears. Since this is a snack that will probably turn into the most well-rounded meal of my day, I decide on a bowl of soup and dessert. Abby apparently thinks this is a good idea, too. Only in between the soup and dessert, she's planning on eating a club sandwich. With French fries. And a side of pasta salad. And she just asked for extra whipped cream on her hot chocolate. My eyes grow wide at the thought of her order. "That's your idea of a _snack_?" 

"I told you, eating for two."

"Yes, but two what? Two armies? Are you sure there's just one in there? Maybe there's more. Because I don't see how one baby can need all that food. Unless of course, you are trying to grow a ten-pounder." 

"Ouch."

"Exactly. So come on, tell me about the Carters."

"Ugh. Well, obviously I seduced John in an attempt to become pregnant with his child, so that I could bleed them dry of all their millions upon millions."

"Wow. They said that?"

"Well, not in so many words. Although _Gamma_ did accuse me of being some cheap piece of ass that he picked up at work with the intentions of getting nothing more than a quick thrill."

"Nice."

"Well, I think what she actually said was, that I was the kind of girl for John 'to sew his wild oats with' before settling down with a nice respectable senator's daughter or some kind of crap like that. And then she insinuated something about me possibly faking the whole thing. Wanted to know if he was 'quite sure.' And I think they were probably skeptical about it actually being John's baby. I'm surprised they didn't ask for a paternity test. They were what you would call 'upset' by the whole thing. I don't think they had a problem with him screwing me, just with the fact that he was so stupid as to knock me up. And even worse, be **happy **about some _nurse_ bearing his child. They could tolerate me as the girlfriend, I guess. Tell themselves that it was some phase he was going through. Slumming it with that trashy nurse. But as the mother of his bastard child? That's a whole other story. I mean how will the senator's daughter feel about her future husband's firstborn and rightful heir belonging to some skank that he met during his little stint as a doctor?"

"Oh, Abby. I'm sure it's not that bad."

"Well Eleanor said, and I quote, 'For God's sake John, you're a doctor. I would have thought you would have known how to avoid this sort of _thing_.' She said that last bit about this _thing_, read disaster, while staring pointedly at me and my belly. I found myself automatically folding my hands over my stomach, like I needed to protect the baby from her words. It was a good thought, though, because the next thing she said was, 'So I suppose you are _sure_ about keeping it.' I mean, there we are telling them that we are *having a baby*, and Eleanor's suggesting that maybe we've not thought long and hard enough about how much it would simplify her life if we would just get rid of it and pretend this terrible mistake never happened. I think she was all ready to pour me some gin and escort me into a nice hot bath. Honest to God. I mean, these people can be so unbelievable. I mean, I thought his mother was warming up. I thought John and his father were on better terms. And he says they are. That this is just a shock for them, that they'll be fine. Except of course that they hate me. My child's family can't stand me. But he says, it's not me, it's the situation. He's sure they'll come around and I hope so. For his sake more than anything. You should have seen Carter. He was so excited to tell them. So proud. He was so sure they'd be thrilled. He can be so incredibly naïve sometimes. Just because we were happy he thought they would be. And the look on his face when he figured out how they really felt, it broke my heart."

"Oh, God. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, it was not the most pleasant family get together ever. At least I know now that his family has as many problems mine. Still, this wasn't the best way to be presented to the family. I don't think I made the best impression. I guess I can't blame them entirely. I mean, they were taken by surprise. I think they barely knew of my existence and then suddenly, I'm changing their family forever."

"Still, that reaction seems uncalled for." I mean, Gamma didn't like me. Okay, she hated me. And John and I were never serious. But it still hurt and made me uneasy. I couldn't imagine being in love with a man, carrying his child, and having his family look at me like they wished I would take a long walk off a short pier. But Abby seems to be taking it more or less in stride. "You're dealing with it a lot better than I would." 

"Ha. Maybe now. Not then. I was a disaster. I just sat there and cried. I mean, I tried not to, I didn't need to be labeled as a self-pitying whiner along with gold-digging tramp … but I couldn't really help it. And John was really wonderful. I was afraid he was gonna blow a gasket or burst into tears himself, but then he saw me crying. And that seemed to make up his mind. He took my hand and kissed it. And he stood up and he told his family, in no uncertain terms, that he loves me, he loves this baby, and that we are going to be a family. And he said they don't have to like it, but they have to accept it. And that he expects that we will all be treated with respect and kindness. And that if anyone so much as implied anything that could be degrading or insulting toward me, the baby, or our relationship, they would all be missing out on watching their grandchild grow up. He said he didn't want to have to choose, but they if they made him, they wouldn't like the result."

"Good for him. I kinda wished I would have seen that."

"Yeah, I should have made a video. A great one for the family collection. Although I feel like part of it is my fault. Or our fault. "

"Your fault? How? For falling in love with each other?"

"No, I was thinking more along the lines of for having a quickie in the downstairs hall bathroom, and running into Eleanor as we were leaving the powder room. Together. All flushed and slightly sweaty. Call me crazy, but I don't think that made the best impression."

"Yeah, I can see where that might have made for a bit of tension."

"Well, obviously I corrupt their sweet little angel. I didn't tell them who started it under the table."

"Under the table? What?"

"I thought you didn't want details." 

"Well, I didn't, but now you've got me intrigued." Okay, normally, I really wouldn't be especially interested in someone else's sex life, but hey I don't have a whole lot of interesting stories in that department these days, and I really do want to know what the hell was going on under the table.

"Well, it started off innocent enough. I mean, I was nervous right? So when we sat down to dinner, he could see how tense I was. So he reached over and patted my knee. You know, as reassurance. And it did make me feel better. So he kept his hand on my knee. Only …"

"What?"

"Well, it didn't exactly stay there. He started rubbing my leg. And then he was rubbing … erm, not my _leg._ Of course, I would let him talk me into wearing a dress on this particular occasion. So this was not a good set of circumstances. I mean, I was enjoying it … but you know … it was hardly appropriate. And I knew that. But …"

"What?"

"I seem go temporarily insane when he touches me. Especially like _that_. I mean, I should have just taken his hand out of my … uh … lap. Instead …"

"What? For God's sake Abby, spill it. I'm starting to sound like broken record here."

"Okay, okay. I put my hand on his knee. And I certainly wasn't trying to calm him down. And my hand didn't stay on his _knee_ very long." 

"And this is going on right there at the dining table."

"Well, under the table, but yeah."

"For how long?"

"The whole meal." 

"Wow."

"Yeah. I'm just chalking it up to pregnancy insanity or pregnancy hormones making me completely unable to control myself."

"What's his excuse?"

"Same one as always. He just says he can't get enough of me. And I swear it's worse now. I mean, there was actually a time when I worried that the pregnancy would, you know, make him less interested. But apparently not. He says I'm sexier than ever and seems hell bent on proving it. But it works out well considering how incredibly horny pregnancy seems to make me."

"So that's why you guys got … um … friendly under the table?"

"We seem to get friendly a lot these days."

"And that would be different than before how?"

"Well, we seemed to control it better then. I mean, we never resorted to quickies in the bathroom."

"So let me get this straight … after the meal was over you two just ran into the bathroom? Why the bathroom? That place is huge … you couldn't find any other room?"

"Well, it was handy, it had a lock on a door, and most people don't think a locked bathroom door is suspicious. Besides, it was the first thing that came to mind. After dinner I simply said that I couldn't remember where the powder room was, so I needed John to show me. Boy, did he show me. No sooner did we get into that bathroom than we start ripping each other's clothes off and then he just shoved me up against the wall and --"

"Abby!" 

"I thought you wanted the details now."

"I don't think our waitress does." I gesture the woman approaching the table. By the time the waitress sets our food down we're a mass of giggles, and she can only shake her head as she heads away from the two crazy chicks laughing hysterically in the corner. "So then you come out of the bathroom and there's Eleanor?"

"Pretty much. So of course Carter tells her that I wasn't feeling well, which would make a convenient excuse after the announcement. But he was beet red when he said it, and I don't think she believed it for a moment. She just gave us a little fake smile and continued on the down the hall. I'm sure she knows exactly what was going on." 

"Probably she was listening at the door."

"Not that you would know anything about that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh … nothing. Just a little story Carter told me one time."

"Oh. I'll kill him."

"Don't you dare. Then I'd have to fend off his family on my own."

"Oh yeah. Okay, so after this encounter with Eleanor, you made the big announcement?"

"Yeah, we were all sitting in the library or the parlor or the drawing room or whatever they call it, and Carter got this big goofy grin on his face. Well, a bigger, goofier grin. Because he had no idea what was about to happen. He expected them to be as happy about it as we are. But I took a deep breath and tried to prepare myself because I had a pretty good feeling that the shit was about to hit the fan. And sure enough, this was the portion of the evening where they all stared at me like I was a $20 hooker that their darling had picked up on Rush Street and brought home for Christmas dinner."

"Wow. I feel the love. So what happened after Carter made his little speech?"

"Well, I think it finally hit them. I think they kinda figured out that I wasn't just some little girl from work that Johnny 'got in trouble'. It wasn't something they could ignore or sweep under the rug because he wasn't going to let them. And I think Jack was the first to understand it. He was the best of the bunch. I mean he wasn't exactly jumping up and down at the idea, but he, at least, didn't suggest getting rid of the evidence of his son's 'mistake'. And after Carter said his piece, Jack came to his defense. Our defense. And then he was the first to congratulate us, and at least pretend that this wasn't the end of the world. In fact, he found me later, before we left and apologized. I'm sure he was shocked at the announcement, and I can't really blame him, it certainly must have been totally unexpected to them. Hell, it was unexpected to us. But if Jack was disappointed that John's with me instead of some socialite and that some girl from the wrong side of the tracks is gonna produce his first grandchild, he either got over it or hides it well."

"That's good. One down. A couple of ice queens to go." Abby manages not to choke on the enormous bite of club sandwich that she's working on while laughing at my description of the two Mrs. Carters. I look down to see Abby's nearly empty plate. In the time it's taken me to eat my soup, she's devoured her entire meal. In between telling that happy story of family togetherness. When our desserts appear, I can't imagine that Abby will be able to finish hers. But not only does she eat her entire brownie sundae, but before I know it, she's dipping into my cheesecake. Okay, no more eating with pregnant Abby. Then again, this could be a good diet. All you can eat … before Abby gets to it. Should be a great weight loss plan. I must be giving her a look. 

"Sorry. I forgot you're not Carter. He's used to it by now." 

"No problem. Besides, it's your birthday, right?"

"Yeah … but I did have birthday cake for brunch. And for lunch. I should probably stop eating cake now." 

"Sounds like a good way to spend your birthday. And you might as well take advantage of the built in excuse you have this year." 

"That's kinda my philosophy." 

I look at my watch and realize I've got to keep her here for another hour. I still don't understand why Carter wants to meet her here, but I promised to do him a favor and keep Abby occupied. But I think we've bought everything in the store … we've eaten … we've checked out every ladies' room on every floor. Okay, there's gotta be something … something … 

"Makeovers!" I announce triumphantly.

"What?" She looks confused. 

"They're doing free makeovers at the cosmetics counter." 

"Oh, whoopee!"

"Yeah, I know how you get all excited over make-up, Ab … but come on, it could be fun."

"I don't know … I want to get home … be there whenever Carter gets off work. We're on different days this weekend, so it'll be our only chance to spend any time together. I'd hate to miss even a minute."

"But don't you think he'd call if he were off work?"

"Probably … but …"

"Hey, I've been lugging at least half your bags all over this entire store, I think the least you can do it go with me to get a make-over. How long can it take?" At least an hour, I hope.

"You know you have to buy something. To get the free makeover. I mean, nothing is really _free_."

"Are you telling me that a sampler of cosmetics is going to 'break the bank'? 

"Okay."

" 'Okay' what?"

"Okay, let's go be girly-girls and get makeovers. Might be kinda nice to surprise Carter while he's surprising me."

I get lucky and the makeovers take almost exactly the right amount of time. I'm studying myself in the mirror, and I'm not sure. I look a lot like myself but with more make-up. Abby on the other hand … well, shit. Abby needs to be shot or something. She's got a little make-up on her face, her new clothes accentuating her curves, she's pulled her hair out of the ponytail she was wearing all day … and now she's got 'movie star' written all over her. She makes me want to smack her sometimes. 

"What?" she demands, catching my look. "It looks terrible, doesn't it? I look ridiculous. I should take it off."

"Don't you dare. Do you have any idea how great you look? Carter's gonna fall over."

"Thanks a lot. Are you saying I usually look scary?"

"Not usually. Just today."

"You know Susan, that's kinda rude."

"Abby … you know what I mean. And you have to admit that get up you were wearing was pretty bad."

"Yeah."

"So the last time Carter saw you, you were slopping around in his pants that looked about five sizes too big for _him_, a big bulky sweater, , you hair pulled into a ponytail … and look at you now."

"I hope I'm dressed okay. He wouldn't tell me how I should dress. Maybe I should have worn something dressier."

"I'm sure it's fine. You're outfit is very … Abby. He'll love it. And knowing you two, it won't be on long enough for it to matter anyway." I heave a big sigh. 

"Trying to tell me you're kinda hard up?" I check my watch. Time to go. "Abby … 'kinda' is not the word for it." 

"Well, you look great with your new makeover. Maybe you'll get lucky tonight."

"That seems unlikely, since I plan to go home and crash."

"No hot date? It's Friday night. And what a waste of a makeover, I though that was the whole point of getting these makeovers."

"Nope, sorry to disappoint. Are you ready to get out of here?"

"I thought you'd never ask. Let's go."

We push our way out of the store into the Chicago evening. It's suddenly become quite balmy. Well, balmy for Chicago in January. But certainly we don't need all our winter gear. Abby's wrestling off her heavy coat and trying to shove it into one of her bags when I catch sight of Carter waiting for us. He's leaning against his Jeep chatting with some guy. Some nicely built, tall, dark and hopefully handsome guy. Some friend of Carter's that I've never met? Hmm … some single friend who happened to show up in his cool black sports car? A car very much like … Luka's. Shit. Luka. And here I am admiring him from afar. Okay, that's just wrong. What's he doing here anyway, Carter didn't mention roping Luka into this plan. And since when are those two so damn friendly anyway? I seem to be unreasonably upset about this turn of events. Carter catches site of me, glaring at him and just grins. I really am going to have to make him pay. But not now. He's ambling over toward us … and Abby is completely unaware. 

"Hey, Ab?" I tug on her sleeve to get her attention.

"What? I --" She catches site of Carter walking toward us, and it's as if she hadn't seen him in weeks, instead of hours. Her face lights up and her voice is soft and sweet, "John."

"Hi, baby." He says with a grin as he slips his arms around her waist. He's obviously taken in the sight of her in the new clothes with the make-up and her hair loose and wavy, "Abby … you look gorgeous. I mean, you always look beautiful. But now you look especially beautiful. The clothes are great and the make-up … wow."

Abby's giggling and blushing as she wraps her arms around his neck and stands up on tip-toe to kiss him. God, if they weren't so cute, they'd be absolutely sickening. I catch Luka's eye, and give him a little shake of my head along with a little eye roll. He smiles in response, and I figure he probably feels the same way that I do. Okay, enough … I'm not gonna just stand here and watching these two make out on the street. Might as well get some of these bags over to Carter's Jeep. A pick up a bunch of them and start toward the car. And suddenly there's Luka, taking the bags out of my hands. 

"Let me get those." He says. "You ladies sure did some damage."

"Oh, no. Not me. Just Abby." 

"This is all Abby's?" He sounds a little incredulous.

"All this and all that." I gesture to the few remaining bags sitting a few feet away on the sidewalk where Abby dropped them. 

"All that too?" He's laughing now. He's kinda cute when he's laughing like that. His whole face lights up and his eyes are twinkling. No, no, no I say to myself. Don't even start. Haven't you learned your lesson about co-workers? Don't even start thinking about him like that. Sure, he's cute. Sure, he's interesting. Sure, he's a nice guy. Sure, we're friendly colleagues. But that's where it ends. But why is he looking at me like that? 

"Is there something on my face?" Uh, duh. About three pounds of make-up that normally isn't there. "Oh, the make-up. Yeah, uh … Abby and I got makeovers." Why am I suddenly embarrassed by this? "I was just trying to stall, you know."

"It looks nice… You look nice."

Oh God. Okay, no, he's not flirting. He's just being friendly. Nothing to it. Uh-huh. "Thanks." Yeah, that's a safe response. Now change the subject. Quick. "So … uh … Carter dragged you into this too, huh?"

"Yeah. Uh, we we're talking after our shifts and --"

"That is so weird."

"What?"

"You two talking. As opposed to say … dueling." 

"Well, there's nothing left to fight over, I guess." The tone of his voice has changed. Not exactly regretful, maybe a little sad. He casts a glance at Abby and Carter, still locked in their embrace, talking quietly to each other. Way to go, Sus. Remind him of the one who got away. Oh wait, Carter's the one who got away from me. We're kinda on the same end of this one. 

"That's enough to make you sick, isn't it? Not that I'm not happy for them, but really sometime the cutesy lovey-dovey crap is enough to make me puke. " He just laughs. "So what's your job in this whole *plan* of Carter's?" 

"To take you home."

"Excuse me?" I raise one eye brow at him, even though I know perfectly well what he means.

"To give you a ride home. I think Carter was worried about you. Since you are leaving his car at the hotel, he asked me to take you home. I don't think he wanted you walking in the dark."

"Are you serious? That is so … Carter."

"Well, you'll probably need some help with all those packages anyway."

"Oh yeah, I promised to drop them in the room for him. Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking. I don't know why it can't just stay in the car. But no, he wants it in the room. I mean, look at all this stuff." 

"So you'll need some help. And … um, I hear there's a really good restaurant there. Maybe we could get some dinner?"

"Uh … yeah, sure. That would be great." Oh my God, did he just ask me out? Did I just say yes? What do I say now? 

"I'll just get those other bags." He says as he starts over toward Abby and Carter. When he comes back, they come over with him, and he and Carter start trying to fit all the bags in the back of the Jeep. 

"Hey Ab, is there anything actually left in the store?" Carter calls. But he sounds amused.

Abby just throws him a smile and waves her hand at him as she comes over and takes my arm. "What's going on over here?" she asks me in a knowing voice.

"Um, nothing."

"Uh-huh. That's not gonna work, Susan. Come on, fess up."

"I think Luka just asked me out on a date."

"You think?"

"Well, he asked me to get some dinner with him."

"Oh."

"Oh? So do you think it's a date?"

"Hmm … let's see. Friday night. Dinner. Just the two of you. Sounds like a date to me." 

"Yeah, I guess. Do you mind?"

"What?" She's really laughing. "Why would I mind?" 

"Well … you know."

"Susan …"

"Okay. Right." 

"Hey Susan, um … don't mention you-know-what."

"I won't tell him. But are you sure he doesn't know already?"

"You didn't ..."

"No. But last time he saw you, you weren't wearing that sweater."

"Maybe he hasn't noticed."

"Uh-huh."

"Well, just don't bring it up."

"Well, no offense, Ab … but I really hope we have something more to talk about than you and Carter."

As we are laughing, Carter and Luka come around from the back of the car. Carter hands me his keys and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and his thanks before he turns to Abby. 

"C'mon, babe … let's go." She starts toward the Jeep, but he takes her arm and propels her in the other direction. He holds out a coat that's he brought for her, lighter than the one she had been wearing, and helps her into it. 

"Wait a minute. Where are we going? Susan's taking the Jeep? What's going on?" 

"It's time for your surprise." Abby's whole face lights up as they start out walking, heading down Michigan Avenue toward Water Tower.

"Ready to go?" Luka asks.

"I'm ready." I say as I climb in the Jeep and he heads for his Viper. Yeah, I'm ready. Or at least as ready as I'll ever be. 


	5. Close Your Eyes and Make A Wish

Title: This Thing About Birthdays

Author: Andrea

Author's Note: So here's the much-anticipated (at least by Catherine, anyway) Chapter 5. Um, there's really not much that can be said about these boys. Uh, I mean, this chapter. Or maybe it's just that some things are better left unsaid. So I guess I'll just say "PANTYHOSE!" and let you get on with your reading. Oh, and anybody (besides Catherine) who can tell me the big Dick McStreaker shout out gets a prize. 

Disclaimer: You still can't find them? Check Eminem's basement … maybe they're down there with Dr. Dre getting their mad rap on. Or maybe not. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This Thing About Birthdays

Part 1 

Chapter 5: Close Your Eyes and Make A Wish

"Well, that's kinda … weird." I say as we walk down the sidewalk, arms entwined, snuggled up together. 

"What?" He asks me, the picture of innocence.

"That. You know. Those two … going on a date." 

"A what?"

"You know. A date. Two people going to dinner together. A date. That thing we never did."

"We've gone on dates." 

"I don't think sobering me up at Doc's or climbing on top of me on a gurney in a trauma room counts as a _date_."

"Ha ha. That's not what I meant. I took you on a date just last week." 

"Oh …" I laugh, "I don't think taking me to _Toys R Us _to look at strollers and carseats and playpens counts as a date, either." 

"Hey, I bought you popcorn." 

"Still doesn't count."

"I buy you dinner all the time." 

"Carter … I don't think calling up the Chinese place that delivers would really be considered a date." 

"Well, maybe we'd go out more if you hadn't up and decided to do _this_." He says, gesturing to my belly. He's teasing, of course. A game we play where we try to 'blame' each other for our happy accident . Probably because neither of is good enough at expressing our feelings to say how grateful we are to each other for making this unexpected, yet ultimately very welcome, experience possible. 

"Well, I didn't realize pregnancy meant that I could no longer eat."

"Trust me, Abby, in your case, nothing could be farther from the truth. I can't remember the last time I actually got to eat my whole meal. I'm a little afraid of what would happen if we went out for dinner."

"Hey!" 

"Besides, you need your rest." I can't help but roll my eyes at the piece of advice that I must hear fifty times a day from him. "And 'dating' now … wouldn't that be sort of …"

"What?" 

"Overkill?"

"What?" 

"Redundant. You know, unnecessary. I mean, aren't we kind of past that?" 

"Past what? Going out to dinner? Going to a movie or a play? Oh, that is so like a man. Now that you've 'got' me, you don't have to bother to be romantic anymore? We don't ever have to go out and do anything special? So this is how it's gonna be, huh? You figure that now that we're having a baby together, we should just sit at home watching _Sesame Street _all the time?" 

"No. Not all the time. We can watch _Blue's Clues_, too. It's got that catchy little jingle …"

"Oh, so life as we know it has to be over because we're gonna have a kid?"

"Well, surprise or not, Abby, we decided to have this child. And if we're gonna be parents, we have to live up to that responsibility." I pull my arm away from him and turn to look at him like he's suddenly sprouted wings. He's kidding, right? He has to be kidding. What? Does he really think I'm not taking this seriously? The tears are brewing again, but then suddenly, I'm just angry.

"I _know _that. You don't think I know that? Jesus, John, I wasn't suggesting that we leave the child to be raised by wolves while we run around partying all night. What kind of mother do you think I'm going to be?"

"Oh, Abby, that's not what I meant. I know what kind of mother you're gonna be. A great one. The best. I mean, I wouldn't let just anybody have my baby." The anger disappears, and I find my self smiling in spite of myself, as he goes on, "I just meant that because we're having this baby, we might not always get to all the stuff that other new couples do. But that's okay, because we'll have something better … we'll be a family." 

A family. A happy little family, just what I've always wanted. Made possible by him. I reach out and grab his hand, interlacing my fingers with his. Was I angry at him a minute ago? Not anymore. But still, there's something I want him to understand. I'm not gonna crawl into a bubble with the baby and sit at home all day. There's a great big world out there to show my child. Starting with this incredible city that we live in. And as much as I intend to be the best mother possible, there has to be some balance between Abby-the-mother and Abby-the-person. So it can't be all _Sesame Street _and _Blue's Clues_, just because we have a child. And part of being good parents is taking care of, not just the baby, but ourselves and each other … and our relationship. The baby will be our first priority, but not our _only_ priority. 

"Look, I know there might be some things that we'll miss out on once the baby is born. I just don't think that having kids means you have to be perpetually housebound. You can't be … kids need to get out and see things, learn about the world. So we can, and should, take the baby places, show her … or him … all the places that we love. And it'll be great to explore the city as a family. We can take the baby everywhere with us. Most of the time. But occasionally, you and I can still go out, just the two of us. And now, while it is still just the two of us, maybe we should do some of the stuff we haven't had a chance to do yet."

He has a thoughtful look on his face, and I know he's considering what I've said. He looks down at our hands for a moment before looking back up to catch my eye. "Yeah. I know what you mean. Don't worry, I'm not really gonna try to put you on house arrest. I would have done it already, if I thought I could get away with it." He smiles, but of course, I already knew he was joking. Hoped he was joking. "And I'm sorry if I've been a little overprotective, I just worry about you. But if you're up for it, then we'll do that stuff that we haven't had a chance to do yet. Tonight, in fact. We're out on a _date _right now, aren't we?"

"We're just taking a walk." So maybe I'm still pouting a little.

"Ah, but it's good exercise and not too strenuous."

"I'm pregnant, not sick … an evening of dinner and dancing isn't going to hurt me." 

"Dinner and dancing? Ah-ha! See, we _have_ been on a date. Dinner and dancing … and dinosaurs." 

"Oh don't tell me you are try to pass off that evening at your grandparents' charity event as a date."

"Well, it was _like_ a date."

"Yeah, except we were just friends, I was just doing you a favor, and if you'll recall, I was with Luka at the time."

"Who's fault is that?"

"Oh no, don't you go changing the subject."

"The subject? What subject? That I never take you anywhere? Well, I'm taking you somewhere tonight." 

"No," I start, not willing to concede just yet that we do seem to be going on a date and so, I guess, maybe he does take me out sometimes, "the original subject. You know, about how you just happened to bring Luka along and send him off with Susan to wherever they are going. Where _are _they going? Or for that matter, where are _we_ going?" 

"Now, look who's changing the subject …"

"I am not."

"You are too. Trying to pump me for information about tonight. I thought the subject was Luka and Susan going on a date." 

"Oh, I thought the subject was you pretending not to know anything about Luka and Susan going on a date."

"I don't know anything about it." 

I give him my very best I-don't-believe-that-for-a-second look. "I never would have believed it."

"Believed what? That Luka would ask Susan out?" 

"That John Carter would play matchmaker."

"Abby, I have no idea what you are talking about." But he can't quite suppress the little smile. 

"Uh-huh. Sure. You didn't get Luka to come along with you knowing that Susan was with me and that one thing might lead to another."

"Of course not, I just wanted to make sure Susan got home safely. _Now_ can we please change the subject?" 

I consider this for a moment. Change the subject? Well, I can think of another subject I'd certainly like to move on to. Or get back to. We are heading down Michigan Avenue, Water Tower is towering over us. The night is beautiful. The stars are out and being winter in Chicago, it's cold … but not unbearably cold like the morning had been. It's actually kind of nice. But then, I'm used to cold winters, so this weather is just right for … whatever we are going to be doing. "Where are we going?" I demand more than ask. But he only laughs. 

"You'll see soon enough. Patience is a virtue, you know." 

"Screw that. I want to know what the surprise is."

"Nope. You'll see soon. Very soon. Soon enough that you really don't have to pester me about this anymore."

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to change the subject." Hmm, this is cruel, torturing me like this on my birthday. This surprise had better be worth it. I decide to approach this differently. "So am I dressed okay? I mean, this isn't too casual is it?"

"It's perfect. And you look gorgeous. I love the new clothes. You really look the part now."

"What part?" 

"The having-my-baby part. And I love it. I love it that all I have to do is to look at you now, and I know it's real. I see the tangible proof of our love right there." His hand rests on my belly … and I can't help but grin tearfully at this sappy sentiment. Okay, so maybe _sometimes_ we can express our feelings.

"Hey," he says, noting the tears welling up in my eyes, "No crying on your birthday."

"Not even happy tears?" 

"Nope. Besides, we're here." 

We're where? In Water Tower Park? This is the surprise? I hope it's not going to be another one of Carter's History of Chicago lessons. As a birthday surprise, that would really kinda suck. 

"Abby? Aaaabby?" I turn around to see him standing at the curb next to one of the many horse-drawn carriages that wait on the street. He holds his arm out to me, and I reach for his hand, letting him guide me to the carriage and then help me in. Ah, okay, this is more like it. A carriage ride for two through the city still awash in the bright lights of the Christmas season. As we settle onto the surprisingly comfortable seat and curl up under the wool blanket, our … uh, horseman turns around and, with a wink, hands Carter a single red rose. 

"Happy Birthday, Abby" he says, his voice soft and sincere as he hands me the rose. Not exactly left on his empty pillow like I was looking for this morning, but somehow, I think, even better. Why do I feel like crying yet again? Okay, I guess I'll have to forgive him for 'never' taking me anywhere. I don't know when I turned into this stereotypical girlfriend bitching about her boyfriend taking her for granted, anyway. Since when do care about being taken out and pampered? Chalk it up to the hormones. Or some latent desire to feel like a princess. Sure, why not? I seem to be stirring up all sorts of dormant feelings lately.

I gaze down at this perfect , delicate flower in my hand. "Thank you. It's beautiful." 

"Only half as beautiful as you." Okay, enough mushy sentiment. I can only take so much or I really will start crying. 

"Okay," I start in my most playful tone, "don't you think you're laying it on a bit thick now?" He laughs as I continue. "I'll let you in on a little secret -- there's no need for the seduction bit, I'm pretty much a sure thing tonight. After all, it's my birthday, I'd better get lucky." 

"Don't worry, you will …" And with that he leans in to give me a soft, sweet kiss … a very short little preview of things to come. Or so I hope. 

Our horse starts to clip-clop along the streets. The carriage ride is surprisingly comfortable. Nice and smooth … but it's really not surprising, if Carter had thought I'd be jostled around at _all_ on this little ride, we'd probably be in a limo right now. Assuming that the bubble Carter's trying to build for me isn't done yet. Ah, but it's sweet that he's so worried, even if the overprotective routine drives me nuts sometimes. I know it's just because he loves us. I smile, feeling happy, just enjoying being here with him. We're sitting in a comfortable silence, enjoying the city scenery passing us by slowly. With the lights in the trees lining the streets and the facades of the buildings, the city really is beautiful. The cold night air, the stars in the midnight blue sky, cuddled up under a warm blanket with my head resting against his chest … everything is perfect. 

"Thank you." It's almost a whisper, I'm not even sure he heard it. But his arms tighten around me, making me feel safe and secure. I remember, in a flash, my spurt of anger at him a few minutes ago and earlier in the afternoon. That's gone now, along with my worries about whether or not we'll get married. I was right the first time, we don't need to get married. We're perfect just like this. No point in changing everything and taking a chance on that change ruining what we've got now. 

"You're welcome. I thought you might like this carriage ride. It's kinda fun to slow down and really get a chance to enjoy the city."

"Yeah, it is. But that's not what I meant." 

"Oh, what did you mean?"

Take a deep breath and tell him, Abby. "You know. Thanks for … for everything. For making this the perfect birthday. For always being there when I need you. For not giving up on me. For giving me the fairy tale."

"Abby … " he starts. But I don't let him finish.

"I just … well, I was just thinking earlier that I wouldn't be here without you. You know, the baby and all." The baby that's already made such a difference, and it's not even born yet. But, somehow, its mere existence has given me a new perspective, a happier outlook on life because now I know what's really important. And everything else, all the bad stuff that used to rule my world, doesn't seem to matter nearly as much.

"Well, yeah, without me, I guess the whole getting pregnant thing would have been a bit tricky." He chuckles at his cleverness.

"No, I mean, I don't think I ever would have had the courage to go through with it with anyone else. Being with you has changed things; it's changed me. I'm stronger now. And every time I look down and see the bulge that is our baby, I'm grateful."

"Me too." And his hand comes to rest on my hand that has strayed to my belly. I look up at him smile.

"It's just, for the first time in my life, it feels like things are perfect. I mean, not 'perfect' perfect, but good. You know? Like this is the way everything is meant to be … just … perfect."

"Well, not quite." I'm not sure exactly what he means and I can't quite place his tone, but before I can think too much about it, he abruptly changes the subject. "Are you cold? Do you want some hot chocolate? This place on the corner has the best hot chocolate in the city."

"Well, actually …" I'm about to refuse, thinking of my "snack" at the store and the hot chocolate I had there. But before I can protest, he's had our driver pull over.

"Great, okay. I'll be right back." And before I know it, he's left me here all alone in the horse-drawn carriage … with our horseman, Bob … or Fred … or Steve. And briefly I'm troubled because what if it turns out that Bob or Fred or Steve is a lunatic and he kidnaps me, and my body doesn't float to the surface of Lake Michigan until the spring thaw? Or what if the horse, Bob or Fred or Steve, is jumpy. And then someone comes along and slams a door or revs an engine and the horse goes crazy and takes off down the busy streets of Chicago and Bob the driver can't get Fred the horse under control? Okay, maybe these are quite unlikely scenarios seeing as how Bob the horseman looks about as old as my neighbor Henry. And Fred the horse seems completely undaunted by all the activity and noise of the streets. Still, you never know. I mean, in my life, I've learned to wait, to always wait, for the other shoe to drop. Because it always does. It's only been recently that I've let myself buy into the whole idea of happiness and I'm still not quite used to it. These aren't the thoughts I want to be thinking on my birthday; I need a distraction. I'm grateful to see Carter backing out the door of the corner shop with no hot chocolate in site, but a "Happy Birthday" Mylar balloon in his hand and a big grin on his face. 

"What are you up to?" 

"Nothing." His best innocent face. 

"Where's the hot chocolate?"

"Uh … they were out?" 

"So you got me a balloon instead?" He climbs back into the carriage and we set off again on our steady pace through the city. 

"Not just any balloon … see? It says 'Happy Birthday.'"

"Yeah, maybe I could see that, if it wasn't dark out here … so what's with the balloon?" 

"What do you mean?

"Well, you bought me a balloon. And since it's dark, and I'm not 6 years old …"

"I bought it so you can make a wish."

"A wish?"

"Yeah, you're supposed to make a wish and let it go. Don't you know that?"

"I thought you were supposed to make a wish and blow out the candles." 

"Well that didn't quite work out this year, so we'll have to settle for the next best thing. Come on, it's a Carter family tradition." 

"I'll bet." 

"Come on, Ab …" He's holding the balloon in front of me. I give him a look of exasperation, but in the end the puppy dog eyes win out, and I reach out and wrap my hand around the ribbon. "Close your eyes." Okay, I'm humoring him, so I do. "Keep them closed. And then make a wish and let go." 

A wish … as much as I don't believe in that stuff, I figure it can't hurt. And of course I have a wish, the same one I have every day. That this happiness will last. That Carter and I will last. That the baby will be born healthy and grow up happy. I just want a happy little family. So that's what I wish for. I let go. 

And I feel something drop into my lap. I open my eyes to find that the balloon hasn't gone anywhere. Instead , something has weighed it down, anchoring it. The something that fell into my lap. Under the stars and the street lights and Christmas lights strung in the trees, I can see that it's a box. Small and square. I pick it up. Red velvet. I think my heart has stopped beating. I know I'm not breathing. For a long moment I sit and stare at the box. Calm down, Abby, it's probably just earrings. Earrings, yeah, right, that's it. But what if it's not? Oh God. Suddenly a mad rush of feelings surrounds me. Happiness, relief, fear, uncertainty.

"Open it." His voice is gentle, but compelling. But I'm not sure I can. I feel like I would be opening Pandora's box, and that what's inside will change everything. 

He sees my hesitancy, and for a moment a look of puzzlement or doubt crosses his face. Only to be replaced with amusement and he reaches over and gently takes the box from my hand.

"Abby," he starts, now holding the box in his own hand, reaching out with his other hand to take one of mine, "I love you. I love you so much that I can't imagine my life without you. For a long time now, I've know that you and I were meant to be together. Soul mates, maybe. We look at each other and share the same thoughts, the same feelings, like we are two halves of a whole. And the way you fit into my arms just right, I sometimes think that's exactly what we are. The yin and the yang -- two opposites that compliment and complete each other. I know you are my yang. It means brightness, beginnings, life -- that's what you are to me. I look into your eyes, and I see my whole world. Being with you makes me whole. Being with you makes me strong. You make me the best man that I can be. And the happiest I've ever been. Especially now that you're having my baby. And I love you all the more for it. For having enough courage and enough love to give me such an amazing gift. And I want us to be a family. Officially … and forever. I already know I'm the luckiest man in the world, but I'm hoping you'll make me the happiest. I love you, Abby. Will you marry me?" 

He opens the box to reveal a beautiful ring. It's exquisite, yet simple. Nothing too flashy, but absolutely lovely. The tears in my eyes spill over my cheeks, and for once I don't even try to stop them. The lump in my throat prevents me from saying out loud all the thoughts that are tumbling around in my head. It may be just as well, since I'm not sure any of them are the least bit coherent. Well, maybe there's one thought that makes sense. It comes straight from my heart, for once drowning out the fears and worries in my mind. As much as I want to scream out my answer, I can't seem to actually speak. The tears coursing down my cheeks, I look into his eyes, biting my lower lip nervously. I'm sure he already knows my answer before I can manage to find my voice. I squeeze his hand and nod my head before I manage to whisper what may be the sweetest word I've ever said.

"Yes." I lean forward to wrap my arms around him and whisper into his ear. "Yes, yes … a thousand times yes. Of course I'll marry you." I bury my head in his shoulder, trying desperately to stem the flow of tears. But his lips find my cheek, and then my lips, demanding that I turn to him and give him full access. Our lips meld together sweetly, the kiss quickly turning deep and passionate and unlike any other we've shared. Because this kiss, much like the first kiss we ever shared, seals our fate and our future together. But unlike that first kiss, this one tells me that we are for keeps. 

When we pull apart, he lifts my left hand and slides the ring on to my finger. It feels just right there. And I feel whole and complete. And I know that deep down, in spite of all my fears, in spite of all my philosophical musings, this is what I've wanted all along. What I wanted for myself, what I wanted for my baby. I just hope that he's not asking because of the baby. That's the last thing I would want. I don't want to get married because he thinks we _have_ to or even that we should. It has to be just because it's what we want. 

Finding my voice again, I tear my eyes away from the ring on my finger, and turn to look at him again. "Is this what you really want?"

"What? Of course this is what I want." 

"Because I wouldn't want to get married for the wrong reasons."

"The wrong reasons?"

"We don't have to get married because of the baby."

"What? Abby, is that what you think?" I shrug. What was that Susan said about him being an honorable man and making an honest woman out of me? "Oh Abby, I didn't propose because of the baby. I meant what I said about loving you even more now that you're having this baby, but I was already planning this before we found out we were pregnant."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I've had this ring for a long time. It was just a question of when I would ask you. I didn't want to rush into anything, and I didn't want to scare you away. And I was trying to decide what would be the perfect time -- Christmas? Valentine's Day? And then I remember that you haven't exactly had the best birthdays … so I thought it was time to change that. When we found out about our little surprise there, I thought about asking you right away. But I'd already decided on your birthday, and somehow, I didn't want to change that. And I certainly didn't want you to think that I was asking out of some sense of obligation. Because I'm not. I asked you to be my wife because it's what I want most in this world. Yes, I think it'll be better for the baby, as well as you and I, but I promise you, my motives were purely selfish. I just want to fall asleep and then wake up next to you every day for the rest of my life." 

I blink back the tears and look into his eyes. They are bright and shining and twinkling. I know every word he said was true. I reach up to kiss him, hoping somehow that this gesture is enough to tell him how much I love him, how much he means to me, and just how perfect my life is because of him.

When I pull away, I take ring box out of his hand. The ribbon still tied around the hinge is connected to the balloon that still floats around us. I carefully untie the ribbon and look up at the shiny surface of the balloon, which reflects the dark sky and the dancing stars, for just a moment before I close my eyes and let go. When I open my eyes, I can just barely make out an object floating through the air, lighted by moonlight. 

"What did you wish for?" he asks.

I just shake my head. 

"It's okay, you can tell me. I'm officially your other half now."

I look at him and smile. 

"I didn't wish for anything. I didn't have to. You've already made all my dreams come true." 

We kiss again as we ride along under the stars headed for destinations unknown. I don't know where we'll end up, but I know we'll be together for the journey. Him and me … and baby makes three, I think wryly to myself. But as long as the three of us are together, I know all my wishes have come true. 


	6. Trivial Matters

__

Title: This Thing About Birthdays

Author: Andrea

Rating: R for smut, although there's none of that yet. Sorry. Soon, I promise. 

Summary: It's Abby birthday, and Carter is just full of surprises. And this chapter is full of all kinds of ridiculous nonsense, but hopefully it will be some fun anyway. And it is the mother of all shout out chapters which amuses me, even if no ones else cares. 

Author's Note: Sorry this one took so long. I hope it was worth the wait. But since it's devoid of smut or mush, I'm not sure that it is. Maybe you'll like it in spite of that. Anyway, I'm kinda caught up in "A Dream Life" right now, but I'll *try* to get back to this one more regularly from now on. Hope you enjoy. 

~~~~~~~

This Thing About Birthdays,

Part I

Chapter 6: Trivial Matters 

"The Palmer House," Carter starts in his very best tour guide voice while ushering me in the door, "Was built by real estate mogul Potter Palmer, and it opened in 1871, just thirteen days before the Great Chicago Fire. The grand hotel was completely destroyed, but it was rebuilt right across the street from the original site, opening the next year as the first fireproof hotel in the country. As you can see the walls here in the lobby are marble, and the hand-painted French murals and gold-leaf ceilings give it a true elegance."

'True elegance?' Who says that? I know he's not gay, so … Is he drunk? I feel kinda giddy myself, but it's not inspiring me to wax poetic about froo-froo hotel history. I don't know how he even knows this stuff to begin with. I know he's lived here practically all his life, but really, the man is like a walking travelogue of the city. I should have known I wouldn't get through the night without a history lesson thrown in there somewhere. Seriously, he's beginning to sound like a brochure to boost tourism. Oh well, I suppose if the whole doctor thing doesn't work out, he can always look into a career in hotel management. Or become one of those tour bus drivers who chauffeurs unsuspecting out-of-towners around the city while boring his captive audience to death with mundane trivia of Chicago. But at least he'd be good at it. He'd --

"Abby? Heeeello? Earth to Abby." Huh. Oh right, yeah, my mind was wandering again. "What are you thinking about?" 

"Hmm? Oh, nothing, just …" I could never explain it without sounding totally insane, better to just change the subject. "God, this place is huge."

"Yeah, four restaurants, a shopping center, several ballrooms, countless meeting rooms, a fitness center, indoor pool …"

He's rattling off the list of amenities as if he's intimately acquainted with them. "You spend a lot of time here?" I ask him.

"Nope."

"Then how do you know all this?"

"Research."

"Ah. You sure put a lot of time into planning this whole thing, didn't you?"

"Abby, you don't know the half of it. You have no idea what I had to go through with Weaver to get us the weekend off."

"You didn't sleep with her, did you?"

"No, of course not, Abby. In case you forgot … she's a lesbian."

"Did you promise her I'd sleep with her?"

"No, I stopped short of offering her sexual favors or promising her our firstborn."

"That's good, because she can't have this baby."

"Yeah, somehow I didn't think you'd want to trade the baby for a weekend in the lap of luxury. Besides, Kerry doesn't know about it yet, so she didn't think to ask." 

"Lucky for the baby that we've kept it a secret. Otherwise its daddy might have given it away to anyone who asked. I mean, already today you tried to pawn off the whole paternity thing on poor, unsuspecting Henry, and now you tell me that you would have given our child to Kerry Weaver, of all people, had she only thought to ask. Talk about fairytales. Only _that _would have been one of those scary ones."

"Fairytales are scary? Cinderella? Sleeping Beauty? Snow White?"

"Uh, yeah … Haven't you ever read Rumplestiltskin? A scary little midget comes along and saves you by spinning straw into gold, but then takes advantage of you in a vulnerable moment and extracts a promise that you don't think you'll ever have to keep. Then he shows up and tries to take your baby. That's damn scary."

"I think maybe you're a just a little over-sensitive to baby-nappers, don't you think?" He reaches out and gives the bulge a little pat. "Besides, Weaver's hardly a scary midget." 

"Yeah, but there's always a wicked witch. That's who Weaver would be."

"Oh, come on, Ab, she's not that bad. She did manage to get us this weekend together, didn't she?"

"And just how DID you convince her to do that?"

"I just appealed to her softer side."

"Kerry Weaver has a softer side?"

"Yes, believe it or not she does. She likes me, you know. And you too."

"Yeah, good thing you got to me first." 

"Haha. Very funny."

"I thought so." 

"Are we gonna stand here talking about Weaver all weekend?" 

"Oh, absolutely not. In fact, I don't intend to talk about work at all for the rest of the weekend." Our little weekend getaway. The rest of my surprise. I thought a carriage ride proposal was enough of a surprise, but it turns out that the two of us getting to spend the weekend together in a posh hotel suite being pampered and spoiled is the rest of my birthday present. Not too shabby. This whole birthday thing is turning out to be a lot of fun, in fact. After the proposal, we'd ridden around in the back of the carriage, in our own little world, barely able to keep our hands off each other. Okay, we hadn't really been able to keep our hands off each other at all. 

Most of the carriage ride after the proposal is one big blur to me. Well, a blur of hands all over each other's bodies and his lips pressed to mine. I haven't made out like that since … well, I don't know when. My lips are sore and swollen from all the kissing and I would undoubtedly find them to be as red as his, if I looked in one of these giant mirrors hanging in this palace of a hotel lobby. I'd been more than confused when the carriage pulled up to this place. To be honest, I hadn't really been paying attention to where we going. Bob the Homicidal Maniac/Handsome Cab Driver could have been ferrying us to our death, but I was too busy playing grab-ass with my new fiancé in the back of the carriage to notice. Luckily for us, Bob the maniac horseman just pulled up to the steps of one of the city's finest, and oldest, hotels. Just in time too, because things were getting a bit steamy in the back of that buggy. I know it's not unheard of for people to have sex in the back of a cab, but somehow, having sex in the back of a handsome cab with the whole world watching seems like the kind of thing you could get arrested for. And I didn't really want to spend the rest of my birthday in the slammer with changes of public lewdness hanging over my head. 

"Are you thinking about taking up a career in flower arrangement?" Carter's voice drifts into my consciousness. 

"No. Although that could be fun. I do think I have a flair for that sort of thing. Why do you ask?" 

"Well … maybe because you've been staring intently at that vase full of flowers for the past five minutes."

"I was just … thinking." 

"Only good things I hope." 

"Well, I was thinking about you, so …" 

"About me, huh? Abby, I think I see what you were 'thinking' about. And really, it's not nice to spy on our friends." 

"What?"

"Spy … you know, 'watch covertly'. On our friends. You know, those people we like and respect." 

"Thank you, Noah Webster. But I wasn't asking for a definition of the words. I meant, 'what the hell are you talking about?'"

"Uh … Susan and Luka. They're sitting right there in front of you. Don't tell me that you didn't see them."

"I didn't."

"Uh-huh." 

"I told you, I was just thinking. You know, lost in thought. Day dreaming. I had no idea they were in there." Seems the flower arrangement that caught my eye is sitting on a low wall that separates the lobby from a corridor that runs in front of one of the restaurants in the hotel. And sure enough, from where I stand, there's perfect view of Susan and Luka through the glass walls that make up the entrance to the dining room. 

"So you weren't hiding here behind this giant vase of flowers?"

"No, of course not."

"And I suppose you would NEVER spy on them."

"Of course I would. I just didn't realize they were there. 

"Does that mean you are gonna spy on them now?"

"Damn straight. Now get behind that pillar. You're too tall, I don't want them to see you." 

"But then I won't be able to see them."

"I'll tell you what they're doing." 

"What are they doing now?"

"They're … eating." 

"Wow, Ab, that's fascinating. Just wait until we tell everyone at work. Susan and Luka went to dinner … and they ate something. Truly shocking." 

"I can't exactly help it that Susan has yet to launch herself over the table, completely undone by Luka's dark European good looks." 

"Oh, you're so funny. Abby, _now_ what are you doing? I don't really think you have to duck down behind the flowers since you've been standing here all this time and they haven't noticed."

"Haven't you ever watched TV? You can't just stand out there in plain site, you have to hide."

"Oh, so now we're TV sleuths?"

"Sleuths?" I roll my eyes at his choice of words.

"Yeah, you know, detectives. Like _Columbo_, _Longstreet_, _McCloud_ and _McMillan_ … _Starsky & Hutch_." 

"More like _Hart to Hart_."

"What?"

"_Hart to Hart _… you know, Robert Wagner and that red-haired chick. They were married. And every time they had a dinner party, someone died." I explain. 

"Oh yeah … they had that terrier named Max. Took it everywhere with them. Some people are just so insane with their pets." 

"The dog wasn't named Max. That was the butler." 

"No, the dog was Max."

"No, the dog was Freeway, the butler was Max." 

"Who would have a dog named Freeway?" He asks.

"Who would have a butler named Freeway?" I counter.

"We had a butler named Freeman, once." 

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Abby, what does this whole conversation have to do with anything?"

"I don't know, you tell me. You're the one that brought up 70s TV trivia to begin with. I just want to get back to the 'surveillance' of Susan and Luka's date." 

"Aha! I got it."

"Got what?" I ask him, although I'm not really sure why I want to know.

"_Moonlighting_." 

"What?"

"_Moonlighting_. That's what this is like. You know, they were a couple of detectives, lots of sexual chemistry and witty banter. They would go out on jobs and lots of wacky hijinx would ensue."

"Thanks, Mr. Showbiz, but I was familiar with the show. I meant, what does it have to do with us? I don't see any wacky hijinx going on. But would you please get behind that post before they see you standing here waving your arms around like a crazy person?" 

I obviously spoke too soon about the wacky hijinx because as Carter turns around to move behind the big post, he gives me an exaggerated arm wave, loses his balance and falls against the enormous display of flowers, sending the whole vase and it's fragrant contents slipping to the floor in a loud crash. Luckily the vase doesn't break, but about 40 galloons of water do come sloshing out. 

"Uh-oh." He looks somewhat contrite, but mostly amused.

"Nice play, Shakespeare." 

"That's a mess, Abby. You better clean it up."

"Me? I didn't knock it over. And I've got lots of witnesses to prove it." Yeah, seems like the whole hotel is looking at us at the moment.

"Well, just help me pick this thing up," he says as he's hunched over the big vase. "It weighs a ton. And I've got a bad back."

"And I've got a baby in my belly. I win."

"Oh sure, play the baby card."

"You're the one who doesn't want me getting out of bed on my own for fear that I might suffer a fit of 'hysteria' and fall over." 

"Okay, fine. I'll pick it up. Throw out my back. And spend the rest of the weekend laid up in bed."

"Oh no, let me. I'll pick it up. Go into pre-term labor and spend the next four months laid up in bed. See? I still win." 

"Fine, I'll pick up the vase. You pick up the flowers. Then you can put your so-called flair to good use."

"Are you suggesting I have no artistic talent?"

"Guys? Hey, guys." Oh, there's Susan. Wonder what brought her out here?

"What are you doing out here, Sus?" I ask her.

"Oh, I don't know. I kinda heard this huge crash and looked up and saw you two standing here."

"Yeah," Carter starts. "Abby was just out here sp--"

"Admiring this lovely flower arrangement." I gesture to the flowers that are now spilled all around my feet. "Until Carter ruined it." He just looks at me and sticks out his tongue. Nice. Very nice. 

"Uh-huh. And here I thought maybe you were just enjoying the show."

"Well, we would have been if you'd been doing anything interesting." She rolls her eyes at me. "So how's it going?" I look over her shoulder and see Luka sitting at the table. I give him a little wave. 

"Fine. Perfectly fine. The food's good , the conversation is interesting, and -- OH MY GOD!" 

"What?" I look around. Carter's still piling up flowers on the ledge of the wall and I don't see anyone else hell bent on destroying hotel property so … 

"Oh. My. God!" What is she looking at? I follow her eyes … to my hand. Oh, yeah. She must have caught sight of the ring when I waved to Luka or tucked my hair behind my ears. "That's what I think it is, right?"

I nod. Carter grabs my hand and grins. "Yeah … um ... we kinda … well." I stammer. 

"We got engaged." John says, quietly, simply, in a soft voice. He sounds amazed. Like he can't believe his good luck. I turn to catch a similar look of awe on his face as he gazes down at me. I feel the tears returning. Of course, Susan looks a little tearful too. 

"Oh … congratulations!" Susan says, throwing her arms around us in a group hug. Which is convenient since Carter and I each only have the one free arm to throw around her, what with our hands locked together. "Oh you guys, this so exciting." She practically squeals as she pulls back and grabs my free hand, holding it up to inspect the ring. "And this is beautiful."

"Thank you." We both say at the same time. Makes sense. He chose the ring, but it's mine now. There's a bit of a pause while we all stand around trying figure out what to do next. 

"Um, do you guys want to join us for dessert?" Susan asks. I try to read her. Is she asking us to bail her out or not? Because the last thing I want to do is go in there and share our news with Luka. In the middle of his date with Susan. Yeah, hello awkward situation, nice to meet you. 

"Well, we wouldn't want to interrupt." I say. 

"Too late." Susan says with another little eye roll. Hey, I thought that was my trademark. "So you might as well come on in. Sit down. Have something to eat." Food? There's food in there? Probably lots of food. Okay, maybe I can embrace Awkward Situation if it means a snack. It's been all of three hours since my last meal, and those flowers Carter is STILL collecting are starting to look good to me. 

"Well, maybe …" I start. 

"Actually," Carter interrupts, "we should be getting up to our room." I must have given him a look while thinking of my lost dream of a snack. "Don't worry, room service is on the way." 

"Room service?" Okay, I'm intrigued now. 

"Uh-huh."

"Did you order a lot of food?"

"Yep."

"Dessert?"

"Oh yeah." 

"Ice cream?"

"Of course." 

"Yeah, Sus, we gotta go. You better get back to Luka, he's looking a little lonely in there. And he does have this thing about flirting with waitresses, so …" Before I can get any further, Carter grabs my hand once again and starts pulling me through the lobby, presumably toward the elevator. I wave at her over my shoulder. 

"Happy birthday," she calls. "Oh, and Carter? You're welcome. You know, for all the help." 

"Thanks, Susan." 

"You owe me, you know." He waves his hand at her and give her a "yeah, yeah, whatever" look. She just smiles indulgently at us before turning and heading back to Luka … and dessert. I want some dessert. Ice cream. More cake. Fruit pastries. Pie. 

"Pie?"

"What?"

"Did you order any pie?" I ask as we come arrive at the bank of elevators.

"Birthday _pie_?" 

"What's wrong with that?" 

"Nothing, I guess." 

"Yeah, so did you order some?" 

"I'm not telling you."

"Let me guess," I say dryly, "it's a surprise." 

He just smiles at me as the elevator doors open. Once the other people file out he leads me in and almost immediately pulls me into a kiss. I'm really glad we are on the way to our room. And not just for the food, either. We manage to behave ourselves on the ride up to our room. But probably only because we were in the elevator with six other people. Not that it prevented him from pulling me up against him, my back to his chest, with his arm wrapped around me and resting lightly on my baby bump. Just a nice little innocent hug. So then why are my nipples hard and my panties damp? Judging by what I think I feel poking me in the small of my back, I assume I'm not the only one anxious to get to the room and, uh, 'test out' the bed. Make sure it works well. For sleeping, of course. You know, just in case we want to write a review of the accommodations. 

The interminable elevator ride finally comes to an end, at one of the top floors, of course. He leads me down the hallway, and when he stops at a door, I wrap my arms around him from behind, slipping my hands into his front pockets. 

"Abby! What are you doing? We're in the middle of the hallway. Can you at least wait until we get in the door?"

"I was just looking for the key." I look up at him and bat my eyelashes in my very best innocent look.

"The 'key,' huh? That's a new one." 

"The key to the _room._"

"Well, you're not gonna find it there." He says, producing a key card from his jacket pocket. He opens the door and ushers me into our room. Rooms. Suite. Holy shit. This hotel suite is bigger than my whole apartment. Not to mention a hell of a lot more posh. Elegantly decorated and filled with vases of fresh cuts flowers, the room is absolutely beautiful. Lit by both some sort of soft ambient light and various candles all over the room --how did he manage that?-- this definitely looks like a place that I can somehow manage to spend the weekend in. The hall door opens onto a living area boasting an overstuffed couch and an entertainment unit that holds a giant TV. Not that I intend to spend a lot of time watching TV this weekend. Well, maybe that will depend on the movie selection. I turn to see a kitchenette tucked into the corner of this room with a table and chairs of some rich, dark wood sitting just in front of it. Through the large opening to the bedroom I catch sight of a four poster bed piled high with soft white linens and pillows. Beyond the bedroom, I can see a portion of the bathroom. Even from here I can see lots of glass and marble, and know it's undoubtedly going to be one of the nicest bathrooms I've had the pleasure of using.

"Wow. John, this is amazing." 

"You like it?"

"Yeah. It's great. Of course, I'll never want to leave."

"Well, we have all weekend to enjoy it."

"Yeah …" I look around. There's one thing missing. "Um … where's the food?" 

"What?" 

"The food. You know, the room service you promised would be here." 

"Actually I said it was ordered … it won't be here for a bit." 

"But I'm hungry."

"Too busy shopping to eat?" He asks as he gestures to the pile of Bloomies bags that are piled up near the couch. 

"No, we ate. It was really good, too." 

"And you're hungry again?"

"Hello? Eating for two, remember?" 

"Well, the food will be here soon and then you can eat enough for two, three … however many you've got in there." 

"There's still just the one in there."

"Are you sure? Because with the food bill we have these days …"

"You were there for the sonogram last week. You _did_ the first sonogram." He just looks at me for a minute. 

"Oh, before I forget … here, open this."

"Don't you think you've already given me enough gifts? The cake, the carriage ride, the shopping spree, this weekend getaway … and oh yeah, this ring." I grin, looking at the beautiful diamond set into a simple platinum band.

"Don't forget the rose."

"Oh yeah, the rose."

"And, of course, that." He says, pointing to my belly. 

"If the baby was supposed to be a birthday gift, your timing is way off. It's gonna be more like a birthday gift to yourself. I hope you aren't expecting anything else." 

"No, a baby will be fine. But do you think you could have it on my birthday? That would be cool."

"Well, I don't know. I'll have a talk with my uterus and see if we can work something out."

"Okay." He looks at me expectantly.

"Well, I can't promise you anything." 

"What? No, Abby, I was just waiting for you to open your gift. Come on, come on … open it." I love it when his face lights up like that. He looks just like a little kid. Preview of things to come, I guess. I think I know just what our child will look like, especially if it's a boy. I can just imagine a little Mini-John all excited about something, with that exact same look on his face. Oh, I hope this baby is just like his daddy. Sweet and funny. And of course, he'll be adorable. With that thought, I smile and turn to the task at hand. I open the beautifully wrapped gift to find a collection of lotions, soaps, bath beads and bubbles. Lots of bubbles. 

"Just a little something to keep us occupied until the food gets here." I just look at him, so he continues. "You should see the bathtub here."

"Oh, I will. No question about it. So is this when you start 'making it up' to me?" 

"Definitely." 

"Well then, what are we waiting for? Let's go." 

Ah, I do love a nice bubble bath. And it seems like I'm about to get the birthday gift that I've been waiting for all day. I can't wait. 


	7. Bubble Bath for Two

__

Title: This Thing About Birthdays

Author: Andrea

Rating: R … yes, it FINALLY lives up to its rating.

Summary: It's Abby birthday, and Carter's got all kinds of tricks up his sleeve. 

Author's Note: Big assload of thanks to Kelly # 2 and Catherine. So anyway, here's the long awaited chapter 7. Beware of the "cliffhanger." I'll try to get the next chapter up soon. Thanks for reading and enjoy! 

~~~~~~~~~

This Thing About Birthdays

Part I

Chapter 7: Bubble Bath for Two

The mood is set. There are lit candles set on various surfaces of the bathroom, creating a soft glow. Hot water cascades into the tub, creating a mountain of bubbles. 

Abby's taken off her new clothes, and is wearing one of the plush white robes provided by the hotel as she pins her hair up, waiting for the bath to be ready. 

I put one foot in the tub, testing the temperature. It feels just right to me. "Abby, your bath awaits you," I tell her. In an effort to be chivalrous, I reach my hand out to her as I attempt to step in the tub. But before she can take my hand, somewhere between stretching my arm out and lifting my foot off the tile floor of the bathroom, I lose my balance. I feel the foot that is in the tub start to slip, and try desperately to right myself because either I'm going to land right on my head and give myself a concussion. Or I'm going to land on my … not my head, and give myself a far worse condition than swelling in the brain. Luckily, I'm no stranger to falling on my ass, so I manage to throw my weight to the side and land face-first, but unharmed, under that mountain of bubbles. When I lift my head, spluttering bubbles out of my mouth, I look over to find Abby red-faced and teary-eyed because she's trying so hard not to laugh. 

"Are ... are … you …okay?" She somehow manages to choke out. As soon as I nod in affirmation, the laughter breaks loose. I sit up in the tub, trying hard to find my dignity. Of course that's kinda hard when there are bubbles in your hair, bubbles up your nose, bubbles in your ears. When Abby finally manages to stop laughing, she comes over to the tub and sits on the edge. She runs her hands through my messy, wet, bubble-covered hair and says, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to laugh at you. It's just it was so …"

"Funny?" I supply. 

"Well, yeah. Good thing I'm not marrying you for your grace and poise." She's teasing me. But then her face turns serious. "Are you sure you're okay? You didn't hurt yourself at all?"

"Nope, just my pride." 

"But you're so adorable when you fall over your own two feet." She leans over and kisses my forehead before standing up to remove her robe. "But you know John, you really do have to be more careful." Abby somehow manages to step in the tub with plenty of poise and grace and then settle down to sit in front of me, her back to my chest. "After all, I want more children, you know."

"Really?" I ask, pleased at the notion of at least a couple babies in our future. 

"Of course you should be careful. If you'd landed the way I thought you were going to land, I wouldn't be getting that birthday gift I've been eagerly anticipating all day after all. So it was a good save. And the look on your face under all those bubbles …" She starts giggling again. Well, at least I made her laugh on her birthday. 

"That's not what I meant, Abby." I tell her as I lean forward to kiss her shoulder. "I was talking about that _other_ thing you said. You know, about wanting more kids." I rest my hand on the round swell of our first baby, still nestled safely inside its mother. 

"Oh."

"Did you mean that?" This is something we haven't really talked about. Of course, we never really talked about having kids in the first place -- we just found out we were having one. So why on earth would we have discussed how many we might eventually want? 

"Well, I at least want the option." 

"What does that mean? You do or you don't want more?" 

"I don't know. I haven't really thought about it, I guess. I just want to concentrate on this one for now." Her hand joins mine on her swollen tummy. "We'll see how it goes, and then we can decide about having others."

"But it's definitely a possibility?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Good." 

"Why? How many do you want?" She sounds little nervous, like maybe I'm going to suggests a baker's dozen or something. Although the thought of a dozen more little Abbys really isn't _that_ scary. 

"I don't know. More than one, probably. But I'm fine with waiting to see how things go before we decide. And like you said, for right now, we should just concentrate on the one we have." We both spend a few moments communing with her naked belly and the little person who lives in there, lost in our own thoughts. Finally, I voice mine. "I remember the day you told me you were pregnant. It seems like such a long time ago. And on the other hand, it seems like yesterday."

"I don't think I'll ever forget that day. I've never been so nervous in my life."

"Nervous? Why?"

"Why? Well, as if taking that pregnancy test was nerve-wracking enough, I was scared to death to tell you."

I laugh. Scared to tell me? I can't imagine why. "What did you think I was going to do? Run screaming from the room?" 

"I had no idea what you would do. That was the problem. It's not like we'd talked about it, much less planned it. I was afraid you'd be mad."

"Mad? How could I be mad about the best thing that ever happened to me?" 

"Well, I didn't know that when I told you you'd start grinning and get all teary-eyed. I didn't know that your prevailing emotion would be excitement. I thought you'd be more … shocked. Maybe upset. Definitely confused. God knows I was."

"You were? Really? You hid it well."

"I did? It wasn't on purpose because, believe me, I was definitely in a state of shock. Absolutely. I didn't expect that test to be positive."

"You didn't have any inkling that you might be pregnant before you took the test? I thought you'd just had enough time to get used to the possibility."

"No, oddly enough, I didn't really think I was pregnant. I should have known. But I didn't. I had no idea."

"Then how come you took the test?" 

"Didn't I ever tell you this?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm pretty sure I would have remembered this story." 

"Oh. Well, yeah, I took the test pretty much on a whim. I was at the grocery store and I kept having these really intense reactions to the thought of various foods. It either made me feel famished or it made my stomach turn. And I couldn't understand why I would be having two such opposite feelings at the same time. Then I just happened to wander down an aisle full of pregnancy tests and when I saw them, I just started wondering. But I didn't think I was really pregnant. Never mind that I couldn't remember when my last period was, and that should have been a very big clue, I was just sure that it was all my imagination."

I grin and pat the little bulge that certainly is not all in Abby's imagination. She giggles, probably thinking the same thing I am. 

"So anyway," Abby continues, "I took the test, basically, to put my mind at ease. I knew that it would be a nagging question in the back of my mind until I knew for sure. But I really though it was just to prove to myself that I _wasn't_ pregnant."

"I can see where you must have been shocked when it was positive."

"Yeah, I was. But you know, it's funny … because I was happy too."

"Why is that funny?" 

"Because I thought I wanted the test to be negative. I mean, there were a million reasons not to want to be pregnant. The timing sucked. We were together, but I wasn't exactly sure where we stood. We'd never discussed having children, even theoretically. And motherhood in general has always been something that scared the hell out of me. Not because I don't like kids or was scared of the responsibility, but because between my mother's disease, my own insecurities, not to mention lacking an example of good parenting in my life, I just wasn't sure I'd ever feel ready." 

"But then you must have changed your mind. Because by the time you told me, you seemed pretty happy about it." 

"Yeah, by the time I told you, I knew I wanted to have the baby. At that point, I was just worried about your reaction. Well, I was worried about other things too, but mostly, right then, I was worried about how you would react. I mean, what if you didn't want it?" 

"Never. There's no way I wouldn't want a child that's yours and mine." 

"Well, I know that now. But at the time … well, I couldn't begin to guess how you would react because I hadn't even been able to predict my own reaction."

"What do you mean?" 

"Well …you know when you take the test, you have to wait a couple minutes for the results. So I was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, going crazy … and I kinda peeked too early. The way the test worked was that you'd get one line if it was negative and two if it was positive. And I just couldn't stand the suspense, so I looked. Too soon. And there was just one line. So I thought it was negative. And burst into tears because I was … disappointed. I hadn't anticipated that. I thought I'd be relieved. But I wasn't. It was crazy because I hadn't expected, or wanted, it to be positive. I didn't think that I _wanted_ to be pregnant. But I guess, deep down, I did. Because when I thought I wasn't …

"So I cried for a few minutes and then I got myself together and was just about to throw the test away when I noticed that there was second line. And I was shocked. Not only because I'd just been sure that the results were negative, but because I'd never really thought a positive test was possible in the first place. Well, of course it was _possible_, but I didn't think it was likely. And if it was positive, I thought _that's_ when I would be crying. But that wasn't the case at all. I laughed. I was happy when I realized I was pregnant. I could have a baby, if I wanted. And somehow, after the disappointment thinking that I _wasn't _pregnant, I knew it was what I wanted. I wanted to have the baby. I don't know how to explain it. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. Not the timing, not my fears. Somehow, it just felt right. Having your baby. The only thing I was worried about was how you were going to take it." 

"But I was thrilled." 

"Yeah." She still has her back to me, allowing her to recline against my chest. Our hands are still interlocked over her belly. But I can hear the smile in her voice. I hesitate to say what I'm thinking, but there's a question that I really want to ask.

"Why do you think that it was different … this time?" I'm reluctant to mention it, knowing that she doesn't really like to be reminded of the abortion. She'd told me about it somewhat reluctantly just a few days after she'd told me about _our_ pregnancy. I'd come home one night to find her sitting in the dark, crying quietly. My heart leapt into my throat because I thought she'd had a miscarriage. I couldn't imagine what else would leave her crying in the dark. But when I went to her and put my arms around her, she'd assured me that yes, our baby was fine, but no, she wasn't exactly okay. And then she'd told me the whole story. We really hadn't mentioned it since … but I can't help but wonder what changed for her between then and now. 

"Well, this time … it was your baby. Our baby. Like you said, a child of yours and mine. A part of each of us fused together. I could never just … get rid of something that grew out of our love. Besides, I'm at a different place now than I was then. I'm stronger, healthier. Due, in part to you … and us. And I felt like this baby was a tangible representation of all that's gone right with my life. My little love child. A child that I made with my best friend … the only man I've ever really loved. And that makes all the difference in the world."

"Oh." I don't really have any response beyond that. She's rendered me speechless, yet again. 

I lean forward as Abby leans back, both of us twisting around a little, making it possible for our lips to meet in a soft, but passionate kiss. As we've been relaxing here in the tub, strolling down memory lane, there's been quite a bit of stroking and caressing going on. I've paid careful attention to the bump that is the baby, but my hands have also wandered around the softness of the skin elsewhere on Abby's body. Now as we kiss, my hands slide up over her firmly rounded belly to cup her swollen, full breasts. Now that they are no longer sore, Abby's happy to let me play with them as much as I want. And with their new round fullness, I find them almost irresistible. 

Actually, I find her entire body pretty irresistible these days. Not that I wasn't pretty much obsessed with her body before, but there's just something about her soft curves that drives me wild. As far as I'm concerned she's never looked sexier. Maybe it has something to do with her enhanced figure, maybe it has something to do with the way she glows and her radiant smile, or maybe it's just knowing that she's carrying my child. But whatever the reason, I just know I'm more than happy to indulge her hormonal surges whenever I can. Well, most of the time. When we'd been in that carriage earlier, Abby was more than a little frisky. She kept trying to move my hands to various parts of her body that somehow I didn't think I should be touching out in public in front of God and everyone else. But here, in the privacy of our hotel bathtub … well, that's a whole other story. 

As my hands continue to fondle her breasts, coaxing the nipples to hardness, Abby drops her head back on my shoulder. Her back arches in response to my touch as her head turns to the side, nuzzling against my neck. 

"Mmm, that feels nice." She says. Her own hands are lightly sliding up and down my thighs under the bubble filled water. 

"You like this, huh?" I ask as I give the flesh beneath my hands a gentle squeeze.

"Uh-huh." The sound escapes her as a breathless moan. "I've been waiting all day to feel your hands on me, touching me."

"And how exactly does the birthday girl want to be touched?" I ask her in a deep, throaty voice.

"Uh … mmm," is the only response I get. 

"Maybe like this?" I ask, slipping my fingers down to her ribcage and tickling her lightly. She giggles and squirms against me.

"That's not exactly what I had in mind ," she informs me with a laugh. I love making her laugh in intimate moments like these. Sometimes it has an even bigger effect on me than hearing her contented sighs and moans. 

"Then how about this?" I run my hands down her sides, over her hips, and gently massage her thighs. Her skin is even softer and silkier than usual thanks to the foamy bubble bath. As I touch her, I feel her shiver. The water is still quite warm, so something tells me those are shivers of pleasure, rather than from a chill. 

Her hands trail up my arms finding a resting place on my biceps while my fingers trace light patterns against the softness of her inner thigh. My right hand skims lightly over the pleasure zone between her legs several times, each time causing her to sigh and wiggle her hips or arch her back trying to establish more contact. Finally she seems unable to stand my teasing any longer, and she reaches down to grip my wrist tightly, effectively holding my hand in place, exactly where she wants it. At first I refuse to extend my fingers and touch her the way she desperately wants me too. But soon enough her whimpers and breathless pleas of "_John, please!_" make me relent. I slowly explore her sensitive flesh with gentle caresses. Her hands slide from my arms to behind my head where she holds on to my neck tightly, pushing my head down and turning her own head towards mine so that our lips can join in a sensuous kiss. All the while her body is responding to the rhythm of my fingers between her folds. 

"Is this what you've been wanting all day?" I ask her, my voice low and seductive. 

"Mmm, yes." She lets her hands slip away from me and fall limply into the heap of bubbles. "But … I need more." She looks at me through lust filled eyes, pleading with me. "Please." 

I withdraw my fingers, allowing her to turn around and face me. She wraps her legs around my waist, and her arms around my neck, bringing her face to mine for another kiss. After a few moments, I feel one of her hands slip over my shoulder and between our bodies. Down over my chest and stomach until she manages to finally find the goal of her expedition. She grasps me tightly, slowly moving her hand up and down. I put my hands on either side of her waist, and slide her slick body against my own, raising her up off my lap slightly. She keeps a firm hold on me, guiding me inside her body at just the right angle as I slowly lower her back down, allowing her to fully encase my throbbing erection. For a moment she doesn't move, sits in my lap, fully impaled upon me, her legs wrapped tight around my waist. She lays her head against my shoulder, and I can feel her heartbeat against my chest, the bulge of her round belly against my own. 

"_This_ is what I'vebeen wanting all day. _This _is what I've really been waiting for."

"Happy birthday, baby." I whisper as I feel her tight inner muscles massaging me. 

It's no longer possible for me to remain still, just enjoying the feeling of being inside her. Now I'm the one who needs more. I begin moving slowly. With my hand on her hips, I help her body to move in harmony with my own rhythmic movements. We seem to get lost in the cascade of bubbles, water sloshing around us and over the side of the tub as our hunger for each other increases and this dance of ours swells in its pace. We can't seem to get enough of each other as we feast on each other's bodies -- licking, sucking, nuzzling, kissing, caressing whatever inch of flesh we can find. I can feel myself getting harder within her and I know I won't last much longer so I increase the speed. Abby matches me thrust for thrust, and I know she is getting close too. 

Then I feel her arms wrap around my neck once again and pull my body even close to hers, as if she's literally trying to become a part of me. There's a humming in her throat that's getting louder and more urgent. Her chest is heaving against mine and her nails dig into the flesh of my back. For my part, I'm calling out her name louder and louder as the pressure and pleasure in my body becomes almost too much to bear. And then when I think I can't take another moment wit out release, she suddenly screams and all her movements immediately cease. She's completely still as her orgasm hits except for the pulsing of her inner walls which squeeze me so tightly that I find myself screaming her name as I explode into her. I feel a ripple of pleasure shimmer down her back as she lets out a shaky breath and falls against me. 

Once again we are reduced to a motionless state. We remain there, locked in each other's embrace for several long, quiet moments. 

"Happy birthday." I whisper, when I finally regain the power of speech.

She laughs. "Well it sure is _now_." She looks up and catches my eye. "Thank you. That was a pretty good birthday gift." 

"_Pretty _good?" I ask, feigning outrage.

"Well, that was just round one, I have to leave some room for improvement, you know." She wriggles her hips as she giggles. I probably wouldn't be adverse to starting on round two now, but I feel a sudden shiver run through Abby that has nothing to do with the way I am massaging her back and butt, and everything to do with how cold the water has gotten. 

"Water's cold. Maybe we should get out before we catch pneumonia." She rolls her eyes at me, but then reluctantly slips off me and glides to the other end of the tub where she begins to stand up. I remain where I am and just enjoy the view. 

"What?" she demands, watching me watch her. 

I shake my head. "Nothing. You're just … so beautiful." And she really is. Especially now. I find myself staring transfixed at the little bulge that appeared so recently. "I mean, you're just … so … beautiful." There's no other way to describe it. 

She's laughing at me now. "Carter, don't you know that's what you're supposed to say when you're _hoping_ to get lucky? Not afterwards. I mean, if that's build up for later on, I already told you … it's not necessary. You don't have to convince me of anything. You can take me anytime, anywhere. It's what I want most for my birthday. So you pretty much have a free pass to ride the Abby love train tonight. No random, gratuitous flattery necessary." Now I'm the one who's laughing. She pulls on her robe and ties it, then takes mine off the hook on back of the bathroom door. "You think you can handle getting out of the tub without damaging vital … uh … organs?" Her tone is playful as she holds out her hand to me. "Try not to pull me back in there, okay?"

"Ha ha." I say sarcastically, as I carefully step out of the tub. Abby holds my robe open for me and helps me slip it on. While I'm busy pulling it shut, she gives my butt a good-natured smack. "Hey, _you're_ the one with the birthday, shouldn't _I _be spanking _you_?"

"Oh, Dr. Carter, you naughty boy. Maybe we can try that later. I don't have my whip, but …" She grins impishly as she heads out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. I pull the plug on the bathtub drain and throw some towels on the floor to sop up the spilled water and then follow along behind Abby like a lovesick puppy dog. Am I mixing my metaphors? Oh well. 

"Where's the food?" She asks impatiently, looking around the room like it should have magically appeared while we were otherwise occupied.

"You didn't really think it would be here when we got out of the tub did you? I mean, who would have been available to let room service in? And I don't know about you, but I wouldn't have really wanted them coming in and watching the show in the bathroom, anyway."

"Good point," she laughs. "So when is the food getting here?" 

"As soon as I call and tell them to send it up."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" She stands looking at me with her arms crossed over her chest, waiting for me to do as instructed. I sit on the edge of the bed and call the front desk to arrange for our birthday feast to be brought upstairs. While I'm making the arrangements, I watch Abby begin lugging the bags containing the fruits of her shopping spree over to the bed. Time for show and tell, I guess. I put the phone down and turn to Abby. 

"So you want to show me what you bought?" 

"Do you really want to see?"

"Yeah, sure." Of course, even if I didn't want to see her purchases, I would have lied. Because Abby's sitting on her knees in the middle of the bed, looking like an excited little kid. She's obviously dying to show me whatever's in that bag. "Am I gonna get a fashion show?" 

"Well that might be a bit of a problem with what I have here." I don't understand what she means until I see her pull a small yellow sleeper from the shopping bag.

"It's baby stuff."

"Yeah, I couldn't resist. I know I was supposed to be getting clothes for myself, but the baby stuff was right there next to the maternity clothes and … well, it's all just so cute." 

"So tiny." I pick up the little footy pajamas and feel the soft cotton. "It's hard to imagine anyone can be so small." 

"Small? You wouldn't think it was so small if something that's big enough to fit into that was going to come out of your body." I look at the little newborn-sized sleeper again and see it in a slightly different light this time. 

"Okay, I see what you mean. But still …"

"Yeah, I know … look, look at these little t-shirts." Abby pulls one out of the package. "They look like doll clothes." Indeed, they do. I'm not sure I've ever seen clothes so small. 

"What's with the sleeves?" T-shirts with cuffs? 

"Oh, you turn those inside out and they become little mitts for the baby's hands. To keep it from scratching its face. Because, you know, newborns tend to pull their arms and hands up tight against their face." She demonstrates both the magic shirtsleeves for me as well as this popular newborn position. "Makes them feel more secure, I guess," she says of the latter. 

"I never would have thought of that. Or to buy the right kind of t-shirts." 

"Well, luckily I learned _something_ all those years in OB. Besides, lots of newborn clothing comes with the little cuffs. See?" She proffers a newborn nightgown, white with a pastel print. Sure enough, it sports the same little cuffs. "Isn't it cute?" Abby asks with a wistful note in her voice. Normally not an attribute I would apply to Abby, but lately it seems that wistful, along with happy -- and do I even dare to say "carefree?" -- have become a part of Abby's personality. She's still my Abby full of tempestuous moments and occasionally overwhelmed by her worries, but now those darker moods are balanced by these lighter, sunnier times. Like now. She seems to be practically radiating happiness as she gives up on removing items one-by-one from the bag and instead holds it up and turns it over, dumping the contents on her lap. We spend the next few moments inspecting her purchases -- infant towel sets, receiving blankets, tiny little clothes in yellows and greens and whites. 

"There's a lot of stuff here, babe." I tell her as we pack it all back into it's bag. She gives me a look that I'm not sure how to read. 

"I know … but we didn't have _anything_. And I know it's a little bit early to worry about it … but still …" 

"You had fun, huh?" 

"Yeah." He face lights up as she answers. "Susan and I had a blast. But don't worry, you'll get a chance to go along next time … believe me, there's still plenty of stuff to get." 

"Yeah, I guess there's really not _that_ much here when you think about it. And if you had fun on your birthday shopping spree, that's all that really matters." 

"Well, I'm glad you feel that way." Uh-oh. She leans over the edge of the bed and comes up with another bag. I watch its contents spill out much they way the other items did. 

"Abby …" 

"What?" She gives me her best innocent look. Probably one I'll be seeing on our child in a few years when he or she is trying to stay out of trouble. 

"It's all pink and blue! Why did you buy all this pink and blue stuff? We're not going to need one half or the other. I mean, I guess if it's a girl we can use the blue stuff, but I don't think we should dress our son in pink. " She just rolls her eyes at me. 

"We can always return the color we don't need. Or …"

"Or?"

"Save it for next time?" 

Oh, well, I like that idea. Of course, what if next time it turns out to be the same sex as this time? Or what if there never is a next time? "There's no guarantee that we'll get one of each … so we may never need the blue stuff." She gives me a look. "Unless we do need the blue, then we might not ever need the pink. So we're back to having a bunch of stuff in the wrong color." 

"Well, I know that. But since _someone_ didn't want to find out the sex when we had the sonogram last week, I didn't know which color to buy." 

"What's wrong with yellow? I like yellow."

"Nothing, I like yellow too. But I didn't want _everything_ to be yellow. Especially if it's a girl. If we dress her in yellow, neutral clothes all the time, people will think she's a boy. I want to be able to dress my little girl in little girl clothes. Blue and yellow little girl outfits maybe … or cute little pink things. Like this." She holds up another little sleeper, this one in pink and with decidedly feminine additions like embroidered flowers on the collar. 

I give Abby a suspicious look. "You? Want to dress the baby in something like that?" 

She looks upset. "You don't like it." 

"Well sure I like it. I just thought, you know … you're not exactly a pink kinda person." 

"Just because I don't go around wearing pink all the time doesn't mean I wouldn't want to put my little girl in pink. Or at least something 'girly.' Not all the time, you know. I'll put her in overalls too. And just because something is obviously for a girl, it doesn't have to be all lace and frills. It can be feminine without being too cutesy. But at least while the baby is little, I want to dress my baby in pink. You know, as long as it's a girl." That gets a laugh from me, even though I know she's teasing me. "And of course if I knew whether it was a boy or a girl, I would have been able to buy just girl stuff or just boy stuff, but oh, no … we have to wait and be surprised."

"What's wrong with being surprised?"

"Oh, I don't know, I thought being pregnant in the first place was surprise enough." 

"But Abby, don't you think it's fun, not knowing who's in there? Waiting until the baby is born to find out? I would think it would be a good incentive to get you through labor and delivery." I don't think she's buying it. 

"Yeah, but it just makes it so much more complicated now. I mean, I had to buy pink _and_ blue … we have to pick out a boy's name _and_ a girl's name."

"No, just a girl's name." I give her a cheeky grin. 

"You're still stuck on that whole 'the fourth' thing, huh?" 

"What's wrong with it?" 

"I don't know … it sounds a little … pompous? John Truman Carter IV."

"Well, it's not like we'd call him 'John Truman Carter IV.' 'John Truman Carter IV, go to bed.' Don't be silly, Abby." 

"So what would we call him?"

"I don't know, Ab … maybe 'John' since that would be his name?" 

"Because that's not confusing." 

"Why would it be confusing? You call me Carter." 

"Well, sure _I_ call you Carter, but the rest of the world doesn't. And maybe it doesn't matter when Little John is in diapers or Johnny's in grade school, but what happens when he's sixteen and doesn't want to be called 'Little John' anymore? And you start getting each other's mail and phone calls … I'm telling you, it's asking for trouble." 

"So no 'fourth,' huh? You're gonna break the family tradition …" 

"Well … maybe not."

"You just said you didn't want him to have the same name as I do." 

"I know. But, I _do_ like the idea of naming him after his daddy. I just don't want to call him 'John.' Or JT. I do like 'Jack,' though. Maybe we could call him that."

"Like my dad?"

"Sure why not?"

"But then he'd have the same name as his grandfather."

"Well, so what? He'll also have the same name as his father and his great-grandfather. So why not have the same nickname as his grandpa? Unless your dad is planning to move in with us, I don't think it would be much of an issue. I mean, fifteen years from now when some giggling teenage girl calls up and asks for 'Jack,' I doubt I'll be thinking that she wants to talk to my father-in-law."

"Good point. Jack … yeah, I like it. That could work." I lean over and talk to the baby. "Hey, you in there … what do you think? You want to be 'Jack?'"

"Oh so now that we have a boy's name, you think it's a boy."

"No, I still think it's a girl. I guess we better get started on a girl's name, huh?" 

"I think you better hold that thought."

"Why? What's wrong."

"Nothing is wrong. I think the food is here." 

Sure enough, within a few seconds, there's a knock at the door, and a voice calls out , "Room service." 

I get up to answer the door and look back at Abby, a look of confusion plastered to my face, I'm sure. How did she do that? I didn't hear a thing. She leans back against the bed, hands behind her head, and says, "I have my ways." Okay, now she's reading my mind. Kinda scary. 

"So what do we have here?" Abby asks, approaching the table, once all the food has been laid out and we are alone again.

"Your birthday feast." 

"I like the sound of that."

There are several different platters laid out on the table, all covered with a silver dome. And under each lid, one of Abby's current favorites can be found. Her face lights up seeing all the different dishes. I lift the lid on the first one. 

"Hot wings!" She's very excited by this fact. Seems that lately this has become one of her main cravings. Not so bad. Until you watch her dip them in vanilla ice cream. She seems to think that makes perfect sense, that it's somehow like bleu cheese. "And onion rings too. Yum." At least she doesn't dip those in anything. 

I lift up the next lid. "Pizza … deluxe with extra cheese?"

"Yep, just the way you like it." This earns me a kiss on the cheek and a hug. She wraps her arms around my waist from behind and puts her chin on my shoulder. Another platter revealed. 

"Cheeseburgers!" Her voice is pretty well ecstatic now and she's literally jumping up and down. Just a little bit, as she's still holding on to me, but jumping nonetheless. "Oh God, if there's a milkshake under that next one, I'll love you forever." 

With a flourish I remove the next lid. "Oh …" She's happy now and apparently going to have to love me forever, because there's not one, not two, but three different flavored milkshakes here. Chocolate, vanilla and strawberry. She loves them all. Although lately she's had quite and affinity for strawberries. Which leads to the next tray. A bowl of strawberries, a bigger bowl of whipped cream. But also bright-red maraschino cherries, sprinkles, chopped nuts, hot fudge … 

"Where is it? Where's the ice cream?" She sounds a little bit panicked. Like if they've forgotten the ice cream, it's the end of the world. Certainly she'll never get ice cream again. 

"Well, I'm sure it here somewhere." I lift the lid on the last tray. Two large bowls of ice cream. Abby's so excited that I think she might faint. 

"Let's eat!" She sits down, and not surprisingly, pulls the ice cream towards her. 

"Dessert first, huh?" I ask sitting down next to her, careful not to block her access to any of the food. 

"No, ice cream first. Dessert comes … later." Her eyes slip toward the bed and a finger coated in whipped cream slips across my lips. Oh, I get it. I watch her load up the ice cream with various toppings, creating quite the sundae. She takes a moment to study her creations and then pushes one toward me. Maybe somewhat reluctantly, but I could just be imagining that. 

"Don't worry, they've got lots of ice cream downstairs if you need more later." 

"Mmm, hot fudge sundaes …" Her eyes are closed in ecstasy and for a moment she seems even more rapturous than she was during our little dalliance in the tub. Apparently it's a very close call between me and a pint of rocky road. But then her eyes open and she reaches over and squeezes my hand. "Thank you. This is great. Really great. The best birthday I've ever had. I can't believe you did all this for me. Went to all this trouble … just for my birthday." And it's not even over yet. But I don't tell her that there's more to come. 

I just squeeze her hand in return and tell her in all honesty, "You're worth it, Abby. You are so worth it."

"I love you." 

"I love you too. Happy birthday." 

She smiles at me and then returns to her ice cream. Then we move on to the pizza and wings. The onion rings and cheeseburgers. And of course the shakes. None of the food actually gets finished, but that's not the point. Besides, we can stick it in the fridge and save it for later. Something tells me we won't be venturing out into the world much these next few days. 

When Abby's had her fill of the birthday feast, she gets up from her own chair and moves over to mine, settling on my lap, giving me another thank you hug and kiss. But the kiss turns into something more than a simple thank you. Seems like maybe it's time to work off some of the calories we've just consumed. But this time around, we can take it nice and slow. 

I reach behind Abby to find the nearly full bowl of strawberries and the whipped cream. Abby pulls her lips from mine and turns to watch my movements as I languidly drag one of the ripe berries through the cream before holding it up to Abby's flushed lips. I slowly rub the cream-covered fruit over her lips, watching as her tongue slips out of her mouth and licks up the sweet confection. She opens her mouth and sucks the firm fruit in, cleaning it, and my fingers of any remaining whipped cream with her deft tongue. She sucks vigorously on the strawberry, slowly turning it to pulp in her warm, wet mouth. Once the fruit has disappeared, she continues working on my fingers. The thought of her giving this treatment to another part of my body is enough to cause a stirring in my robe. 

Abby giggles at the feeling and then reaches over for the strawberries and cream. She rests the bowl of whipped cream on her lap and drags a berry through the fluffy whiteness before bringing the sweetened fruit to my face and painting my lips, nose, chin, and cheeks with whipped cream. Of course then she has to use her tongue and lips to clean up the mess she made. Once she's done that, we find ourselves nibbling at the same berry, our lips infinitesimally close, but yet not quite touching. I reach for another strawberry, offering it to Abby, who greedily gobbles it up. 

I'm reaching for another one when suddenly Abby's body stiffens in my arms. I hear her suck in a sharp gasping breath. The bowl of whipped cream tumbles to the floor as her hand flies to her swollen belly. At first I think it's one too many strawberries on top of the mountain of food she'd already consumed for dinner. But then I see the look on her face. Her expression is unreadable, and unlike any I've ever seen on her face before. She grabs my hand and squeezes it tight. She's biting her lip and tears well up in her eyes. 

"John." Her voice is a strained whisper. 

I've never been so scared in my life. 


	8. When Day is Done

__

Title: This Thing About Birthdays

Author: Andrea _(CarbyLove@aol.com__)_

Rating: R for smut. You've been warned. 

Summary: It's Abby's birthday. Still. It just goes on and on. 

Author's Note: Thanks, Cath. 

~~~~~~

This Thing About Birthdays

Part I

Chapter 8: When Day is Done

Oh my God. 

I can't believe this is happening.

And on my birthday. 

My hand falls, almost involuntarily, to my belly. 

The bowl of whipped cream tumbles off my lap at my sudden, desperate movement. 

I feel the tears spring to my eyes. 

What timing. 

I don't believe it. 

Oh my God.

I reach out for Carter's hand and squeeze it tight. I'm so glad he's here.

"John," I whisper quietly. 

I turn to look at him and see an expression on his face that he's never worn before: sheer terror. Not just worried or nervous or even panicked; it's beyond that. His eyes are wide and frightened. 

"Abby, what's wrong?" His voice is sad and scared and breaks my heart. Oh God, what have I done to him? 

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong." I quickly reassure him. I reach up and lay my hand along his cheek. My other hand moves one of his to my protruding belly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Nothing's wrong. Everything's fine. Great even."

"Then what …"

"I just felt the baby move."

"It's kicking?" Suddenly the look of panic turns to one of delight, and his voice is full of excitement. 

"More like turning cartwheels. It wasn't so much a kick that I felt as this whole … wave of movement."

"Where?"

"Here." We hold our hands over the general area where I felt the flurry of motion, waiting.

"You sure it wasn't just gas?" He asks, glancing over at the table and probably thinking that after that feast, I'm likely to be experiencing some sort of gastro-intestinal event. 

"_That_ wasn't gas. I've been feeling all these little flutters for the past couple weeks, but I was never really sure. But _that … _that was, without a doubt, the baby." 

"But it's not moving now." He's pouting. Just like a little boy. He can be so cute. 

"Well, maybe it just needs some encouragement. A little prodding maybe." 

"Oh yeah. Okay." 

We give my firm stomach a little push, hoping to inspire the baby to push back. 

Nothing. Well, nothing that can be felt on the outside. Suddenly though, I'm very aware of an almost constant fluttering and even some vague thuds inside of me. Did this just start all of a sudden? Or am I just now recognizing it for what it is and always was?

"Abby … it's not working." 

Why's he complaining to me? Does he think I have some sort of control over this situation? Sorry to say, there's nothing much I can do about it. But I figure I'll put on a good show anyway. With my free hand, I poke at my belly. "Hey, Baby … Daddy wants to feel you kick. C'mon …" 'Daddy' gives me a look like I'm nuts … right, like he doesn't spend enough time with his head against my stomach 'talking' to the baby. "What? It could work. They respond to familiar voices, you know." 

"Well, then maybe I should try." 

He leans his head down to my belly and starts talking. "Hello, Baby. I know you're awake in there. Say hi to Daddy." We try pushing on my stomach again. And this time we're rewarded with a kick. An honest-to-God kick. 

"Did you feel that?" He asks in breathless excitement. "It kicked!" 

"Yeah, _I_ felt that. And I guess you did too. Guess the baby likes hearing its daddy's voice." 

"You think so?" He sounds happy and proud at the thought. 

"Well, you got it to kick didn't you?" 

"There it is again!" He laughs. 

"Yeah," I agree with a giggle. "Wow …" The tears are back in my eyes again. My baby is moving. I can feel it kicking around inside of me. It's amazing. "John … there's a baby in there." My voice sounds kind of astonished, even to my own ears. 

"Well, yeah, I hope so." He's still laughing and brimming with excitement. 

I'm excited too, but also awestruck by the emotional moment. Overwhelmed really. And for some reason, embarrassed by these tears that are rolling down my cheeks. I brush them away with the back of my hand and extricate myself from Carter's embrace. I walk over to the bed and lie down, just needing a moment to take it all in. Thankfully, Carter seems to understand this. I hear him puttering around, putting the food away. 

I lie quietly, my hand resting on the baby, feeling, from both the inside and now the outside as well, what suddenly seems to be a constant stream of motion. Thump, flutter, flutter, thump. How can this little peanut suddenly be moving so much? It's incredible. But then, I guess it's probably been moving this much these past few weeks, but now, suddenly, it's gotten big enough that I can feel it. And thanks to those more noticeable movements, now I recognize the flutters for exactly what they are. I guess what I've been feeling for a while now, really was the baby all along. Even though I had my suspicions, there's something about knowing for sure that it's my baby I'm feeling that brings me to tears. Feeling such strong, purposeful movements from the tiny being within makes my heart swell with pride and love and happiness. But there's something else too. Something a little disconcerting. It feels amazing, but certainly different from anything I've ever felt before. And it's … well, weird. 

I feel the bed shift under Carter's weight as he quietly lies down next to me. He snuggles up behind me, with his chest to my back. His chin rests on my shoulder, and his arm slips around me. 

"Pretty intense, huh?" I nod a little, glad he understands. "What's it feel like? Does it hurt?" 

"No, it doesn't hurt. Not yet. It's not bumping into any organs. And it's not big enough to really kick that hard. Mostly it just feels … funny. Good, but kinda weird. I mean, on the one hand, it's indescribable how amazing it is to be able to feel the baby. It's great to know it's moving the way it should be. So that's reassuring. Because every little thump that I feel tells me that the baby's okay. And that's a wonderful feeling. And just feeling the little one that's growing in there is exciting, and touching. But …"

"What?" He asks. I roll over onto my back and look up at him. 

"Well … it's like there's an alien inside of me. It's a part of me, but it's also separate from me. With a life of it's own, just moving all around. There's a whole other person, only it's _inside _of me." 

For some reason he seems to find this funny. I glare at him for laughing at me when I was being serious. "Sorry, Ab … it's just … when you said 'alien' it made me think of the movie … and comparing your pregnancy with a sci-fi horror flick is kind funny. But you know, the baby's not gonna just pop out of your stomach like in _Alien_ …"

I roll my eyes at him. "That's not what I meant." I give him a little swat on the arm to prove my point. 

"I know." He gives me a little hug, getting the laughter under control. His hand strays down to my belly, slipping inside my robe to rest on the bare skin and, I'm sure, wait for more furtive movement from the baby. I don't think he'll have to wait long. The kid seems to be in training for a decathlon in there, some of those movements ought to come through. He chuckles slightly and I know he felt something. "That is so cool. I'll never get tired of feeling it." He kisses my cheek. "That's my baby in there." 

"Yeah, that's you in there." 

"That's us in there." Yeah …

We spend a few moments just feeling the little thuds against the walls of my womb … he feels it externally, but I get to experience it in a whole different way. And being on the internal end of this exchange takes a little getting used to. "I guess it must be kinda tough to get used to something flailing around inside your body," he says as if he read my mind. I nod vigorously. Yeah, yeah it is.

"But it's pretty cool, though. Strange, but amazing, really. It's just … it makes it all very real. I mean, I thought seeing this little one on the sonogram that made it feel real. But that can't even compare to this. There's a real, live baby growing inside of me."

"Were you expecting a puppy?" 

"Carter …" There's a note of warning in my voice. This isn't something I want to be teased about. He gives me a contrite smile, and I instantly soften, voicing a thought that's been running through my mind. "You know, five months ago, this baby didn't even exist. And then, from practically nothing, it grew into a kicking, somersaulting baby. How did that happen?" 

"You did it, Abby. You grew it from nothing into a baby." 

"No, nature did it." 

"Your body did it. So I guess you must be nature's conduit." 

"Ah yes, that's me. Just a vessel." I pause and look at him, then give him a rueful smile. "For the great Carter spawn." 

"Well, _somebody_ had to do it." 

"Lucky me." I say wryly, but I know that he knows that I meant it. And I do mean it. I really do. He gives me a big smile. 

"Well at least you got a nice ring out of the deal." He says playfully, lifting my left hand up and inspecting the ring. 

"It's a beautiful ring." 

"For my beautiful Abby." 

"What have I told you about all the unnecessary compliments?"

"Um … that they're unnecessary?" 

"Exactly. But I have to say, that ring does look pretty good there, doesn't it?" And it feels even better. And all I have to do is look at it to feel this incredible sense of security. 

"Absolutely. It'll look even better when there's a wedding ring next to it." We both gaze at my ring finger for a moment. "Abby?" 

"Yeah?" 

"When do you want to get married?"

"I don't know." I glance down at the little bump under my robe. "Soon?"

"Before the baby? Or would you rather wait until after its born?"

"I think I'd rather do it before. Makes things less complicated if we're already married when the baby is born."

"Yeah, I thought so too. So I guess we'd better get moving on the wedding arrangements."

"Wedding?"

"Yeah, Abby. When you get married, you have to have a wedding." 

"No, you don't have to. I thought we'd just … you know, go to City Hall. I mean, considering …"

"You mean, because you're pregnant?"

"Well, yeah."

"So what? Pregnant women can have weddings, you know. And we can do something small and simple, if you want." 

"I know. But …"

"What?" 

"Well, I don't want to _waddle_ down the aisle."

"You don't waddle."

"Well, not _now_. But by the time we pull a wedding together, I might be on the verge of giving birth. And I certainly don't want to go into labor in the middle of the ceremony." 

"Well we shouldn't have to worry about that next month."

"Next month?" 

"What? Too soon?"

"Not for me. But do you really think we can make all the arrangements by then? Even if we do have a simple wedding, it's still a wedding. We have to find a place, and get flowers and food, invite our friends and family … oh God, our families …"

"It'll be fine. They'll be civil. And if they can't be, then they don't have to come. I don't really care _who_ is there, as long as you are." 

"Well, I'll definitely be there. But … maybe we should just elope." The thought of our families all thrown together for an impromptu wedding is a pretty scary thought.

He's laughing, probably thinking the same thing I am. "It won't be that bad." 

"Oh really? Because you mother and grandmother just love me so much. At least your dad seems to tolerate me." 

"He likes you, Abby." 

"Well that's good, considering I think he's my favorite Carter. Well, right after you, of course."

"Don't forget the baby. The baby's a Carter too."

"Yeah, I know." 

"And you will be, too, very shortly." 

"For better or worse. Even if you dad is the only one in your family that I actually like or that actually likes me." 

"Abby … look, I know things didn't go so well at Christmas. But Mom and Gamma … they just need a little time to warm up, that's all. Once they get used to all this, they're gonna love you. And I think then you might actually like them." 

"I hope so. But if they have a problem with me, I can't wait for them to meet _my_ mother. Because, you know, there's no way Maggie would miss our wedding. Assuming of course that she forgives me for waiting so long to tell her that she's going to be a grandmother."

"I'm sure once she finds out that not only is she going to be a grandmother, but that there's a shotgun wedding involved, she'll forgive you. Not that you did anything wrong. It's not like she's the last to know. And after the fiasco with my family, I think it's understandable that you'd want some time."

"Yeah, but that's not why I put off telling her." 

"Why _did_ you want wait to tell her?"

"I don't know. I guess … Well, things are always so complicated between us."

"But it's getting better, right?"

"Yeah."

"And she's making an effort, so …" 

"I should meet her halfway. Yeah, I know." He's right. I know he's right. At some point I have to leave the past … well, in the past. And if there's ever a time for starting over, it would be in the midst of all these other new beginnings. "I guess we should really tell her soon." 

"Well, look at this way: now we can tell her about the baby and the wedding at the same time. Save on the phone bill." 

"Yeah, the phone bill tops my list of concerns." His turn to roll his eyes at me. And then something occurs to me. "You know, she might want to know when we are planning on doing this whole wedding thing. Everybody might. Hell, Susan asked me today when our wedding day is, and that was before she knew we were engaged. She won't give us a moment's peace now. So I guess we better figure out the when part, at least." 

"Oh yeah, that's right. Before we got sidetracked, I was suggesting next month."

"And I was saying that I didn't know how we'd make all the plans by then." 

"Well, let's just say we could. Would that work for you?"

"Sure. But where? I think that's the most difficult of the arrangements to make if we going to have any actual wedding." 

"How about here?" I look around the hotel room, and he catches my glance. "Not here, this hotel room. But here, this hotel. Downstairs, in one of the ballrooms. Lots of people have weddings there."

"And I'm sure they'll just happen to have an opening sometime in the next month or so."

"Well, as a matter of fact, I already looked into it."

"Oh, of course you did." Resourceful, I'll give him that. I don't know when he's found time to do all this. 

"It just so happens that they've had a cancellation, and the room is ours if we want it."

"When?"

"Exactly five weeks from now. Which should give us enough time to make the other arrangements. And you shouldn't be too unwieldy just yet." He pats the potentially unwieldy bugle, making me chuckle. Yeah, let's hope I haven't turned into a blimp five weeks from now. "It's a Friday night.," he continues. "I thought an evening ceremony might be nice. We can have the reception right there afterwards. And then you and I can come back to up to this same suite. Sound good?"

"Five weeks from now? But isn't that …"

"Valentine's Day? Yep. Perfect day for a wedding, don't you think?"

"But John …" I study his face carefully, trying read exactly what emotions are there. He can't really want to get married on February 14th, can he? "We can wait, you know … I mean, if that's the only date, we'll just wait or find some other place or go to City Hall." The last thing I want is him putting on a brave face because he thinks I want to get married as soon as possible. For all I care, we can go find a judge or an internet minister or a sea captain next week and be done with it. I want to be married to him, I don't really care how we get there. 

"Abby, it's been three years. I've thought about this. I don't want to spend the rest of my life with the bad memories. I think it's time to start making some good memories. That way, when I think of Valentine's Day, I'll think of it as the best day of my life, instead of the worst. And, come to think of it, _that_ Valentine's Day wasn't _all_ bad." 

"Oh yeah, there's a real upside to getting stabbed with a six-inch butcher knife." 

"Well, I didn't mean _that_ part. Of course, that was a horrible thing. I lost a friend; it changed my life forever. But there was at least one good thing that started that day." I give him a puzzled look. He strokes my cheek softly and looks into my eyes. "You remember." Yeah, I do. I smile at him, and he continues. "I wonder sometimes, what would have happened … you know, if things had gone differently that night, if I hadn't gotten stabbed. Because even then … I was, well, drawn to you. There was just something about you." 

"Really? Even then? But you barely knew me." 

"And yet, somehow, you'd already cast your spell over me." Oh God, he can be so cheesy sometimes. But still, I laugh. "Why do you think I was hovering around you all day?"

"Because I was the new med student and you didn't want me to kill anyone? Or, as the case may have been, do too much when there was really nothing to be done?"

"Well, sure, that was part of it. I mean, it was my job to supervise you and you_ were _new. But that doesn't really explain why I found myself pausing outside the door, watching you watching the patient. It wasn't about observing your bedside manner, I can tell you that much. And certainly, hot coffee on the cold roof wasn't part of my job description. So … you see, it's an anniversary of sorts, for us. Not precisely the day we met, but what kind of feels like the first time we met. The first time we connected. Or maybe the first time I really noticed you, anyway."

I consider that for a moment before asking him, "So this is what you really want?" 

"Absolutely."

"You're sure?"

"Yes." I look into his eyes. They're sparkling with excitement. I don't see any hesitancy there. 

"Okay." 

"Okay?"

"Yeah, Valentine's Day it is." I tell him. If it's what he wants, it's fine with me. 

"You don't think it's too cliché?"

"No. Well, maybe. But I don't care. Who wouldn't want to get married on Valentine's Day? And it works out well for you … combining a mushy Hallmark holiday with our anniversary. You're sure to remember one or the other, and you can double up on gifts. Not to mention bragging rights. It's doesn't get more spectacular than giving your girlfriend a wedding for Valentine's Day."

"So we have a date." I nod in agreement. "Five weeks from now we'll be married." 

"And five months from now we'll be married with a baby."

"It's gonna go by so fast."

"And there's so much to do in the meantime. Plan a wedding, buy all the baby stuff …" And then something hits me. "There's no room for all the baby stuff in the apartment. I hadn't even thought about it, but maybe we'll have to get a bigger place."

"Funny you should mention that. I've been thinking about it myself." Uh-oh … thinking. This can't be good. "Wait here, I'll be right back." He gets up from the bed and heads across the room to his bag. When he comes back, he has a small square box in his hand. Wrapped up and tied with a bow. Now what does this have to do with that thinking that he's been doing? 

"I don't think the baby, or all its stuff, will fit in that box."

"Ha ha. There's something in the box, for you." 

"John … don't you think you've gotten me way too much already? If you spoil me now, I'm gonna expect this kind of treatment all the time."

"You deserve it." That gets him a little eye roll. "Besides, this is the last one, I promise." He hands me the box. "Open it." I take the box and open it carefully. Inside I find a key chain in the shape of a heart. "Look, it opens." He demonstrates for me, showing how the key chain opens as a locket would. And inside, there's some sort of black and white image. What is that? Oh, it's very small version of one of the pictures from last week's sonogram. My baby. At its fuzzy best. But so sweet of John to think of it. 

"Thank you. This is great. Now I can show off a picture of the baby wherever I go." I notice the key attached to the key ring. "What's this?"

"It's a key."

"Thanks, Sherlock. I meant, what's it for? The apartment?" 

"Nooo … not exactly." I'm not sure I like the sound of that.

"What did you do?" He doesn't answer, just gives me his best puppy-dog-eyes look. "John."

"Well, it's like you said. There's just no room for our little peanut in the apartment. There's barely enough room for the two of us and our stuff."

"So … you rented us a bigger apartment? You didn't think I might want to have some say in the matter?" 

"I didn't rent us a bigger apartment." Oh, okay. Well, that's good. Or so I think until he goes on. "It's not an apartment, it's a house."

"You rented a house?" I screech those words. Call me crazy, but I like to get to choose where I'm going to be living. Especially when it comes to moving from an apartment to a house. That's a big change. And God knows, we're already facing enough changes. 

"No." No, well then … what? Oh my God. No, he didn't. 

"Tell me you didn't buy a house."

"I didn't buy a house." 

"Did you buy a house?"

"No. I didn't _buy_ a house. I just … found a house. " He pauses. "And made an offer and put down a deposit."

"_Carter!_"

"What?" He looks genuinely confused. 

"What do you mean 'what?' Why would you buy a house without consulting me? What if I hate it? I'm not a child, you know. I want to have some say in these kind of decisions too." I'm practically shouting at him now. I can't believe he would do something like this with no warning, no discussion. He must see the anger in my eyes because he hastily tries to explain and placate me in some way. 

"First off, I didn't buy a house … I made an offer. Which can be withdrawn if you don't like the house. If you hate it, we can find something else. But it's a great house, and I didn't want to miss out on it. Secondly, I never intended to find a house, much less make an offer on one, without consulting you. I just happened to notice that this house was for sale. It's in great location, a nice property, and the house is beautiful. So I thought I'd take a look, see if it was something we might be interested in. And I fell in love with it. And you'll love it too. I know you will." 

He gives me a contrite, but hopeful smile and goes on. "I was just trying to save you some stress. I know you have enough to think about, I didn't want to worry you with this. So I thought if I did the legwork, it would make it that much easier on you. I was trying to help." The puppy dog eyes are back. And they're beginning to work. I feel myself soften a little. After all, his intentions were good. 

"How do you even know that I want a house? What if I don't want all that responsibility?"

He furrows his brow at me. "But we're getting married and having a baby."

"Just because you get married and have a baby doesn't mean you have to have a house."

"I know that. But I just thought it might be nice. There'd be plenty of room inside. And it would be nice to have a yard for the kids to play in. A garage to park the cars in. A big kitchen. Big bathrooms. Lots of bedrooms." 

"How many bedrooms?" I'm not sure what to expect when a Carter says "lots of bedrooms" … about forty or so, maybe. 

"Four. They're all upstairs, which I thought would be important because we'll want to be close to the baby. In fact, there's a room right next to the master bedroom, that would be great for the baby. It's the smallest of the bedrooms, but it's already painted a nice shade of yellow. It would make a perfect nursery." He looks at me to see how I'm taking all this.

"Keep talking." 

"Then there's another bedroom across the hall. It's a little bit bigger, so it would be good for when the baby's not a baby anymore. A good child's room. In fact, it's big enough for two to share, if necessary. And then the last bedroom is over the garage. It's down a little hallway, kinda secluded, so it would make a good guest room."

"Because we get so many guests?"

"Well, my parents, your mom, your brother … it never hurts to have a little extra room. I mean, you never know what's going to happen. Like with our little surprise package here." He pats the belly. "I wouldn't want to have to move because we run out of room if a few more come along someday."

"A _few more_?" 

"I'm just saying that with the extra bedrooms, there's plenty of space, no matter what happens down the road. And did I mention that all the bedrooms have their own bathrooms? Which is good, because then the kids won't be fighting over the bathroom all the time."

"Yeah, the nonexistent few _more_ kids that we need these rooms for." Nothing like getting a little ahead of ourselves here. And then something else he said registers. "Wait, did you say that _all _the bedrooms have their own bathrooms? This is starting to sound a little too fancy for my taste." A house full of suites? This is starting to sound like a mini Carter mansion.

"It's not that fancy, Abby. It's beautiful, but not … lavish. I really think you'll like it. Wait until you see the kitchen. It's gorgeous."

"Which is important, considering we're such gourmet cooks."

"Well, you never know, once the baby comes along, maybe we'll feel the need to cook something at home once in awhile."

"Yeah, that's likely."

"Oh, c'mon, Abby … it's the perfect house. It's in the city, but in a nice, residential area. In fact there's a park just up the street. But we'll still be close to work, shopping, restaurants, museums, all the good stuff about being in the city. But in a pretty neighborhood. And the house itself is pretty. Did I tell you that in the front of the house there's a courtyard with a fountain and everything? And a there's a backyard with a patio and a grassy area … and there's even a swing set that was left behind." 

"And I've always wanted my own swing set." 

"Could you be any more sarcastic?" He seems a little bit irritated. 

"Could you be any more insane?" I shoot back. 

"What?" A note of genuine confusion in his voice.

"You bought a house."

"I didn't buy it."

"_Whatever_. I just can't believe you did it without talking to me about it. I thought this was supposed to be a partnership. And where we're gonna live is a pretty major decision. One that I think we should make together." 

"I know. You're right. I'm sorry." He looks crestfallen, like someone just popped his balloon. Well now I feel kinda bad. I didn't mean to burst his bubble. But still. "Look, Abby, for what it's worth, I wasn't trying to force anything on you, I really thought you'd be happy. But I guess I got a little overzealous about the whole house thing." 

"Ya think?"

"Just a little." He says with that lopsided grin that I love. "You're not gonna stay mad at me, are you? I can call first thing tomorrow and withdraw the offer if you want. And we can find a place together. Just don't be mad at me … not on your birthday." He's giving me the puppy-dog eyes again. Damn him. I melt every time I see that expression. And he knows it too. No, I can't stay mad at him. Especially not on my _perfect_ birthday, all made possible by him. So maybe he went a little too far, I still appreciate the thought behind it.

"Come here." I crook my finger at him and motion him toward me. He moves from the end of the bed where he'd been sitting and comes to join me once again, laying his head down next to mine on the pillow. I turn to look at him. "You know I can't stay mad at you for long. Especially not when your heart was in the right place." He grins and moves closer to me, wrapping his arms around me. "But John … a _house_?" I'm still pretty incredulous about this whole thing. "It had better be some house." 

He lifts his head from where he's been snuggling against my neck and says, "It is, believe me. Wait until you see it. We can go by and take a look Monday morning if you want." 

"What about work? Somehow after being off all weekend, I don't think we should show up late." 

"Oh. Didn't I mention that we don't go in until Monday afternoon?" 

"No. You didn't mention that, as a matter of fact."

"So … now will you forgive me?"

"I guess so."

"You _guess so_?"

"Well, I think maybe you need to do a little something to make it up to me. And maybe _then_ I'll forgive you."

"Oh, what did you have in mind, soon-to-be Mrs. Carter?"

"Well, for starters you can not call me Mrs. Carter. Makes me feels like you mother. Or your grandmother." I can't help it, I shudder a bit at the thought. He just chuckles.

"Well, how about 'soon-to-be _Abby_ Carter?'"

"Better. Much better. In fact, I like it quite a lot." 

"In five weeks, it'll be official."

"Yeah. I know." 

"And then a few months after that …" His voice trails off as his hand trails down to my belly. "God, it's running a marathon in there, isn't it?" He asks upon feeling another good thump. 

"Yeah, something like that. It's pretty crazy. I mean, a few hours ago I wasn't even aware of all this moving around in there, but it must have been going on. And now all of the sudden it seems practically constant."

"Well, maybe it was sleeping before. And then all that sugar and fat and artificial byproducts at dinner woke it up."

"Oh great, my baby's on a sugar high." 

"No, _our_ baby is on a junk food high." He corrects.

"Way to start it on the right track to healthy eating, huh?"

"There are worse things than a little junk food."

"I guess. But I hate to think it's in there bouncing off the walls. So to speak." I say. Poor little thing's probably all jittery now because of _my _ice cream addiction. Oh wait, the poor little thing is the reason for my ice cream addiction. 

"At least we get to feel it bouncing off the walls now. That's kinda nice."

"Yeah … hey, did you feel that one?" I giggle as a feel another good kick. 

"Yep." He gives me a goofy grin as he absentmindedly rubs at my stomach. "You know, Abby, I think this is the best idea we never had. Our little intruder here." 

I laugh. "I don't think you can really call it an 'intruder' when we gave it an invitation. Or at least left the door wide open. Lucky thing we weren't more careful, huh?" Now he's chuckling. I laugh for a moment too, before turning to a more serious though. "You know at first I worried because it happened so soon. Too soon, maybe. But now I think it's almost better that it happened this way."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we weren't together long enough to get used to just being a couple. So we don't have to go through that whole awkward transition from being a couple to being a family. After all, the baby's been part of 'us' almost from the beginning. Of course, sometimes I wonder what we might be missing out on, not having more time for just the two of us."

"We're not missing out on anything, Abby. Not a thing. Well, except maybe, a couple more years of leisurely morning sex. But somehow I think whatever we might miss out on, what we're getting in return is definitely worth it. And I wouldn't change a thing." 

"Neither would I." If I ever had any doubts about that, I don't now. Especially after experiencing what it's like to have a future soccer all-star practicing kick-offs inside of me. Speaking of which …

"There's another one!" Carter exclaims. Sure enough, the baby seems to have settled into a favorite spot and the kicks seem to arrive at the same place at irregular, but fairly close, intervals. I rest my hand next to Carter's and wait for the next one. When we feel it, we turn in unison, towards each other, the same happy smiles on our faces. 

"I can tell this is going to be our new favorite form of entertainment. Just sitting around feeling my belly."

"Feeling the _baby_," he corrects. "It's just so … incredible. Breathtaking, really. It's gonna take a while for this to get old. That's our baby in there, kicking against my hand." He leans down and kisses the spot where we've been feeling most of the thumping. And when he looks back up at me, there are tears in his eyes. Not surprisingly, I find tears springing to my own eyes in response. "Thank you," he whispers. 

I almost ask him why he's thanking me, but I don't really have to, I know. "I could say the same to you, you know." 

"Yeah, but I didn't do much." I raise my eyebrows at him. "I mean, I get the easier end of the deal, you know." That's true enough, but I'm the one who gets to feel our baby moving inside of me. As peculiar as the feeling is, I seem to be getting used to it. And it's pretty cool, really. I feel lucky to be able to have this experience. I'm glad I get to carry the baby. Feeling its kicks really does make all the rest of it worth it. Without a doubt. "What are you thinking?" he asks, probably after seeing the faraway look on my face. 

"Just … that I love you." 

"Well, I love you too." 

He gives me a look that I know well. I have a feeling that he's ready to give me the second part of the birthday gift that I was most eagerly anticipating all day. Our tryst in the bathtub was a good start, but I have no intention of letting him off the hook that easy. So if he's willing to start round two, so am I. 

He plants one last kiss on abdomen before shifting positions and moving his body over mine. His forearms resting on either side of my head, he seems to hover over me. He brings his head down, and his lips find mine, joining us in a passionate kiss. His tongue slips across my lips, begging for entrance, and I gladly comply. While our tongues tangle with each other, I reach in between our bodies, feeling for the tie of his robe. I tug on one end of the belt, quickly releasing the knot, allowing the material to fall open. Since his hands are tangled through my hair at the moment, I figure I'll make myself useful and open up my own robe while I'm at it, pushing the material away from my body. I slip my hand inside his now-open robe, running them over his chest and then around to his back where I begin to slowly massage the muscles of his lower back. In response to my ministrations, or perhaps just after becoming aware of our now nearly naked forms, Carter lowers himself from his suspended position, carefully covering my body with his own. 

His hands find their way out of my hair and cup either side of my face, holding my head in place as he deepens the kiss even further. My hands roam up and down his back and his kisses move down my chin, along my jaw line, and then on to my neck. He's gently sucking at a particularly sensitive spot, inspiring little moans from me, when suddenly he pulls away abruptly.

"What's wrong?" I ask, hoping that he didn't hurt his back with his fall earlier. Or with our performance in the tub. But he has an amused and surprised look on his face, rather than a pained one. 

"I think I just got kicked in the stomach." He says, causing me to giggle. Oh yeah, I guess I did feel junior moving around in there, I was just slightly too preoccupied with other things to register that fact.

"Welcome to my world." That makes him laugh.

"I can't believe I can feel it."

"Well, if you can feel it when you put your _hand_ against the bulge, why wouldn't you be able to feel it when your stomach is against mine?" 

"Well, when you put it that way … but I don't know, Ab, this is kinda weird."

"What?"

"Well, you know … the baby moving around in between us. It's like we're making love with the baby here in the bed with us."

"Well the baby is here in the bed with us. Just like it was there in the tub with us a little while ago. And that didn't seem to stop you." 

"Yeah, I know … but I couldn't feel it moving then." 

"Carter …" Oh, I certainly hope he's not gonna flake out on me now. Between that display with the strawberries and whipped cream before and the more recent making out here, not to mention the flurry of hormones surging through me, I'm in no mood to be put off. I guess I'll just have to do a little work so that he'll feel the same way. Something tells me I can find a way to get him past his shyness.

I slip one hand up his back to his neck, and pull his head down close to mind. I plant kisses on the first available patch of skin, working my way up to his ear, lightly running my tongue around the contours before sucking the fleshy lobe into my mouth. My other hand slides over his hip and around to the front where I provide just the kind of encouragement that he needs. I smile around his ear lobe when I hear him sigh into my shoulder. I feel the breath as it escapes his mouth with a moan. Moments later I feel his moist lips and warm tongue against my skin. I continue my attentions between his legs while he kisses and licks a trail down to my swollen breasts. What a shocking development. With this pregnancy, everything has gotten rounder and fuller, and seems to make me that much more enticing to him. Considering my healthy libido these days, I consider it a good thing. And to be honest, I don't mind this curvy new figure too much myself. As long as the curves stay in all the right places. 

For right now, the enhanced curves certainly are just where they should be. And Carter seems to be enjoying these fuller orbs. When his tongue finally finds a firm nipple and begins coaxing it to even greater hardness, it's my turn to moan. The other breast is getting careful attention from his nimble fingers, and sending jolts of electricity through my body. So it's a good deal all around. And he doesn't seem to be complaining about my own explorations. The aching that I feel for him is growing exponentially with each new caress, so I increase the rhythm of my strokes along his firm, hot flesh. 

We still haven't bothered to completely remove this plushy hotel robes that we are wearing. And I guess we aren't gonna. Because suddenly my ministrations must have become too much for him. He reaches down and gently moves my hand away, placing it above my head. Then his body shifts slightly and I feel his mouth on mine once again. He lowers his weight slightly onto my body and positions himself at my entrance. I wrap my legs around him, signally my eagerness to feel him throbbing inside of me. I moan into his mouth as I feel him enter my body, causing him to thrust hard against me with a grunt. I find my hips thrusting up to meet him and instantly we've settled into a gentle rhythm that works for both of us. 

As our movements become more frantic, I slide my hands up his arms and begin to push the robe off his shoulders. Damn bulky thing is getting in the way. He moves his arms in turn, without ever breaking our rhythm, allowing me to push the robe off him and onto the floor. See ya, don't think we'll be needing you anytime soon. Apparently he decides mine should come off too, and he rolls us over. I find myself laying against his chest, but soon I sit up. Immediately his hands slide over the firmly rounded contour of my belly, up to my chest. So maybe it had nothing to do with this damn robe, maybe he just wanted access to the big boobs. I shrug my shoulders in time to my body rocking back and forth on his, and the material slides down my arms to bunch up at my elbows. I pull my arms out of the sleeves leaving the garment to fall around me, bunching at my hips. Close enough. I've got more important things to worry about at the moment anyway. 

Precisely, an orgasm teetering on the edge and threatening to overtake me any second. His hands softly knead my tender flesh, the erect nipples feeling as if they could explode. He's thrusting deep inside of me and with each stroke, the feelings intensify. _"Oh … yes … yes … oh … now!" _ And then it hits me like a million fireworks exploding throughout my body. For a moment I'm completely still before falling against his chest again. He allows me a moment to lie there basking in the feeling of him inside of me, his arms wrapped around me, his slick chest pillowing my head. I can still feel him pulsating within me, so once I've recovered sufficiently, I start planting kisses on chest, working my way to his hard nipples. 

He rolls me back over on to my back, and takes over the process once again. I let my hands roam all over his body as he pushes into me over and over. After a few minutes of steady thrusting, he lifts himself up, letting his arms support his weight. He begins moving faster, and it feels incredible. I can't lie still anymore. I'm writhing under him, tossing my head back and forth on the pillow. I lift my head up, straining my neck so that my lips can come into contact with some part of his body. Even in his state of exhilaration , he notices and bends his head down to me. Our lips come together and our mouths open, allowing our tongues to mimic the actions of our bodies. When my need to breathe takes over, I drop my head back down to the pillow. 

__

"Uhn .. Abby …" His voice is strained from the exertion, but I love the sound of my name on his lips while he's pumping away inside of me. It just pushes me that much closer to the inevitable.

__

"Oh, John." 

__

"Oh my God, Abby …" 

He's calling my name louder and louder and moving at frenzied pace. Oh God, I'm so close … just a little longer … just hold on a little longer … 

__

"Abby, Abby … Abby!" He calls out my name as he finally lets go. And as I feel his warmth spread through me, I, too, can no longer hold on. There's a moment of sheer ecstasy, and then just quiet, satiated comfort. He falls next to me on the bed, and wraps his arms around me. Chests heaving, bodies slick with perspiration, we both enjoy the moment, grinning in satisfaction. 

"Well, happy birthday to me." I finally say, causing us both to giggle. He leans over and kisses my cheek, just as a shiver runs through me. Whether from the kiss or a chill in the room, I'll never know. But I do feel cold as my body cools down after our activities. Carter rubs my arms, feeling the goose bumps. He manages to pull down the comforter, allowing us to slip under and snuggle into the sheets. And into each other. 

Normally I would lie with my back to his chest and his arms wrapped around me. But tonight he requests that we lie belly to belly. I guess maybe he likes being kicked in the stomach. Not that those kicks can be very strong, what with my stomach as a barrier. But still, he snuggles up to me, pulling me close. 

"Baby stopped moving. I wonder why?" He ruminates after a couple of minutes with no thumps or bumps from the bulge.

"Maybe we put it to sleep with all that … motion. You know they usually sleep during the day when Mom's up walking around and lulling them into one long catnap, and then, all night when Mom is lying quietly and there's no comforting motion, they wake up. Or you know, after Mom ingests about three pounds of ice cream. Whichever."

"So if we lay here long enough, it should wake up." He says as he starts poking at my belly. "Hey, hey you in there … wake up." 

"What are you _doing_? I don't want it to wake up, I'm tired. It's been a very big day, and I want some sleep. I don't need a the kid doing high kicks inside of me while I'm trying to sleep."

"Sorry." 

"It's okay. I love you anyway."

"I love you, too." With that, I close my eyes and nestle my head up against his shoulder. For what seems like a very long time we lie there quietly. And then …

"Hey, Abby. Did you feel that?" His voice is somewhat groggy, but apparently he wasn't asleep either when the little one decided to wake up and make its presence known.

"Yes, John. Inside of me, remember? If you felt it, so did I." 

"Oh yeah. Hey you know? It was nice of you to work this out today of all days." 

"I didn't do it, the baby did."

"Maybe it wanted to give its mommy a birthday gift too."

"Maybe so." I feel the little quivers and bumps of our 'little intruder' moving around inside of me and know that I couldn't have gotten a better birthday present. Well, the engagement from its father was pretty wonderful too. Not to mention this weekend in a posh hotel street with the man I love. I couldn't have asked for a better birthday. "All I know is … this is the best birthday I've ever had. I just hope they'll all be this good. Well, maybe not _this_ good, because this would be pretty hard to top. But I hope they'll all be happy."

"Oh Abby, they will be. I promise you, from now on, nothing but happy birthdays."

And with those words, I close my eyes again, a smile on my face.

"Good-night, John. Thank you for making this a wonderful day. Thank you for … everything."

"I'm glad you had a happy birthday," he says sleepily. "Good-night, Abby. Good-night, little one," he says, gently patting the bulge that is our baby. 

The smile turns into a grin, as I nestle my head into the crook of Carter's shoulder, feeling his arms around me and the thump-thump-thump of our baby within. 

Yes, a happy birthday, indeed. 

~~~~~~ 

__

Author's Note: So Abby's birthday has finally come to an end. But never fear, this fic has not. But since it is called "This Thing About Birthdays," my plan is to check in with Abby and Carter on the various birthdays. So next time around, it will be someone else's ... 


	9. Walking After Midnight

__

Title: This Things About Birthdays

Author: Andrea

Rating: Yeah, still R 

Summary: Well, it's not *Abby's* birthday anymore.

Author's Note: After a long, drawn out absence -- a triumphant return. Or something like that. Anyway, this one is for Kelly-who-loves-a-shout-out as a thank you for all her suggestions that found a way into this chapter. Not to mention all her nagging. Thanks, Poops. And thanks, Cath for the editing. So those two already gave me their reviews, now it's everybody else's turn. 

This Thing About Birthdays

Part II 

Chapter 9: Walking After Midnight

"Why does the baby hate me?" 

"Abby, the baby doesn't hate you."

"Clearly, it does."

I try to muster up some patience. "Abby, trust me, the baby doesn't hate you."

"Well, if it doesn't hate me, why won't it come out?" Her voice gets fairly loud by the end of that sentence and it's all I can do to not to shush her. After all, we are walking the streets of our nice, quiet neighborhood late at night. 

"Hmm …" I say, feigning thoughtfulness. "Maybe … because it's not even due for three more days." 

Abby reaches over and picks up my wrist, turning it so she can peer at my watch under the moonlight. "Two more days. It's after midnight." 

"Okay, two days. But still … technically, it's got two more days to cook up in there. So I don't think it's fair to assume that it's showing its hatred for you by not coming out on time."

"Hmph. Well, I wish it would come out already. Today would be good."

"You're ready, huh?" 

"That's kinda the point of this late night stroll, isn't it? To try and get this show on the road. I mean, my God, if this kid drops any lower, it's gonna have to hang on by its toenails to stay in there. Not to mention that I've been two centimeters dilated _forever_."

"Since last Tuesday." 

"Yeah. Like I said, forever. And I've quite obviously been pregnant since the beginning of time. I have to say, the whole thing is getting kinda old."

"I'm sorry." I tell her. And I mean it. Not that I think it's my fault, exactly. I just feel bad that she has to go through all this. And I get off relatively unscathed. 

"Huh. You should be." She looks as if she might be gearing up for a true tirade on the myriad of ways that I suck for having gotten her into this whole pregnancy mess in the first place. But before she can get into it, her hands fly to rounded belly. I reach my hand out and she grabs on. 

"You wanna sit down?" I ask. She shakes her head. "Do you want to at least stop until it's over?" Another shake of her head. So we shuffle along slowly, waiting for the contraction to pass. She blows out a breath when the pain is over. But she continues to hold my hand, her frustration with me apparently having passed.

We continue along at our regular pace, walking toward home, each of us thinking our own thoughts. She's probably thinking about how much she wants to not be pregnant anymore. And I'm thinking that I'm gonna kind of miss it. Although Abby claimed, just yesterday morning, that she's a whale, I think she looks absolutely adorable. And all I have to do is catch a glimpse of her round belly to be reminded of this miracle that we are lucky enough to be a part of. And while the mood swings aren't always a whole lot of fun, Abby's been great, really. She rarely complains if she's not in the grips of a really dark mood or at the end of another exhausting day of growing a baby. Mostly, she's been a real trooper, enduring most of the discomfort without a complaint. And for every bad mood she's been in, there have been at least as many good moods where she's been happy and sweet. She's changing with this pregnancy. She's happier and more optimistic. There's something good for her to hang on to these days. She's even been somewhat vulnerable these past couple of months. She's actually been letting herself lean on me more. It's kinda nice to know that she really does need me. And watching her softer side, her maternal side come shining through has been a lot of fun. Watching her fuss over every last detail in the nursery has been a surprise. But I don't care how many bills she wracks up in the name of nesting. 

"I want it out." She says in calm voice before looking down at her belly and practically shrieking, "Dammit, get out!" Yes, those maternal instincts are really shining brightly right now.

"You keep that up, Abby, and the kid is gonna come out thinking its name is 'Dammit.'" She just looks at me. "Dammit Carter … it has a nice ring." I just get another look. She doesn't even crack a smile. I sigh. "Okay, Ab. I give up. You wanna go get induced?" She perks up at this suggestion. "Or better yet, I can just go swipe some Pitocin and we can do it at home on our own." For this I'm rewarded with a smack on the arm.

"That's not funny. Don't tease me like that. You don't know what it's like. I just want my body back. I'm so tired. But I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can pee though, I'm really good at that. But besides that, all I do is sit and stare at the TV all day."

I pull her over toward me, wrapping my arm around her shoulder. She leans her head against me and lets me propel her toward home. "You did something today. All afternoon you were cleaning like a fireball. The nursery is all ready to go now. The carpet's been vacuumed five hundred times, the crib has been dusted yet again, the clothes have all been laundered and pressed, the blankets have been washed enough to be threadbare …"

"Shut _up_! Don't make fun of me. I can't help it. I just need for everything to be just right when the baby comes home." She tried to pull away but I hold on tight, and she gives up the fight pretty easily. 

"I know. And it will be." I kiss the top of her head. "But sweetie, don't you know what babies are like? All those little outfits and coordinating receiving blankets that you've fussed over so much are just gonna get pooped on." Another thing that's been fun to watch. Abby carefully washing and folding all the tiny clothing, matching up the tiny socks and onesies with the coordinating outfits. And packing the diaper bags for the hospital was quite the ordeal. Trying to find just the right baby boy outfit and just the right baby girl outfit for pictures and the homecoming. Abby? Worry over that kind of thing? Very strange. But very cute. There's a girl in there somewhere after all.

"I know, but … I want it all to start off perfect, anyway. Even if it doesn't last." 

I don't have an answer for that, so I just smile and kiss the top of her head as we round the corner and find ourselves back at home. I open the gate to the courtyard and usher Abby in. As soon as we get in the front door, she crosses the foyer to the stairs. I follow her up with my hand on the small of her back. Not that she needs my help, but I feel better keeping the contact. 

She turns down the hall and heads toward our bedroom at the back of the house. Even in her exhausted state, she stops in the doorway of the room right next to ours. She flips on the light and looks around the room, checking to make sure that everything is just right. 

Sure enough, everything _is _just right in our perfect nursery. The walls are a bright, cheery, sunshiny yellow; perfect since we don't know whether the baby is a boy or a girl. We chose bright white furniture to match the white trim in the room, and now the crib and changing table, dresser and rocker stand waiting to be used. All that's waiting to be done is the addition of the accessories in the appropriate color. We couldn't find a gender-neutral crib set that we agreed on, but we did find two gender-specific ones that we both loved. Both very similar in style, looking like patchwork quilts. But one is all flowers and stripes in pinks and greens and yellows and the other is stars and stripes in blues and greens and yellows. It'll be my job to make up the crib and hang up the curtains in the right color before Abby brings our son or daughter home from the hospital. 

Abby has already spent hours in here getting everything else ready. Just this afternoon, she was folding and refolding the blankets and burp clothes that are stacked up on the changing table. She opened up a package of impossibly small newborn diapers and piled them up on the changing table as well. The wipe warmer is waiting to be plugged in. The pacifiers have all been sterilized. And so have the bottles, if we should need them. The tiny undershirts and socks and sleepers and gowns are all stacked in the dresser drawers, while the fancier outfits hang in the closet. The bookcase and shelves hold toys and pictures and books. Baskets of baby essentials like powder, lotion, and shampoo are under the sink in the bathroom next to the sets of hooded towels and wash clothes. The baby bathtub is ready to go. Everything is ready to go. All we need now is the baby. 

"Ugh." Abby says. I know she thinks we need the baby now, too. Or rather, she thinks we need the baby yesterday. 

"What?"  


"Something's not right." 

"What? What do you mean?" I ask worriedly. Thinking she means with herself or the baby.

"This nursery. It looks … unfinished." I'm relieved that it's just the nursery that she's worried about.

"Well, you know, it sort of is. I mean, since we have to wait to put up the stuff that's gonna be either blue or pink, we have a bare crib and a plain changing table and unadorned windows. Once we get all the accessories out, it'll be …"

"Perfect?"

"Yeah." 

"I hope so." She says. "I mean, I know it doesn't really matter and that the baby could sleep in a cardboard box. And it will probably spend most of its time in the bassinet in our room at first, anyway. But still, this feels important. I just really need to make this room special. I know it's stupid, but ..."

"No, it's not. It's normal. You're nesting. Trying to make things right for your little baby bird." I reach over and pat her belly. 

"I hate these yellow walls." She says out of nowhere, still peering in at the room. 

"But I thought you said you loved the color." 

"The color is fine … but they're so … plain." 

"Abby, we talked about this, remember?" She's nine months pregnant, she's nine months pregnant, I remind myself. "You were the one who didn't want wallpaper or fancy paint treatments. So we got the wall hangings and pictures instead." 

"Maggie offered to paint the walls, maybe I should take her up on it." 

"Paint _what_ on the walls?"

"I don't know. Butterflies or some shit like that." She waves her hand above her head dismissively and then turns on her heel toward our room, apparently disgusted by the state of the nursery. 

"Abby, you just said 'shit' in front of the baby." I admonish her as she sinks heavily on to the bed.

"Well, so did you." She says, lifting one foot in the air so that I can take off her shoe and sock. 

"Yeah, but … wait, butterflies? I'm not sure I want my son sleeping in a room full of butterflies." 

"Since when do you think it's a boy?" She asks, giving me her other foot. 

"Well, you know … just in case. I don't know if that seems … right."

"How incredibly sexist of you. Our little girl can sleep in a room with butterflies because little girls are all sweetness and light? I suppose you'll expect her to wear a tutu and only play with dolls, huh?"

"Abby, that's not what I meant." 

"What did you mean then?" There's a challenge in her voice. 

"Just that … butterflies don't seem right for a little boy. That's the kind of thing that gets you called a sissy on the playground." 

"And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" What's that supposed to mean? Is she calling me a sissy? "That's pretty funny, though, coming from a guy who suggested naming our son Rudyard. Or Aloysius. Or Bernard."

"What's wrong with Bernard?" 

"Oh, you can't be serious. You wanna talk about getting beat up on the playground … try going to kindergarten with a name like Bernie." 

"Being named Bernie is better than having a bedroom covered in butterflies."

"But butterflies are okay for our little girl?"

"Sure. Because she'll be my little butterfly. Just like her mom."

"I thought I was the tornado." 

"Well … you are. But that's a lot harder to paint on a wall."

She rolls her eyes, but smiles at me. Holds out her arms so that I can take her hands and help her up. 

"I'm going to take a shower. My back is killing me." She says, her hands bracing her lower back as she moves heavily toward the bathroom. She would claim she is waddling. I think nothing could be farther from the truth. She looks amazing for being just weeks or days, maybe even hours, away from having a baby. 

I hear the shower go on and there are no plaintive cries for help, so I figure she must be doing okay getting undressed the rest of the way. Usually, as long as her feet aren't involved, she does just fine on her own. Except for an incident with some stubborn stretch pants a few days ago. That whole debacle had us both in tears -- her from frustration and me from trying to hold in the laughter. Not that I didn't feel for her, I did. But still it was kinda funny, Abby yelling for me to come upstairs and take off her pants. Not that I was totally adverse to the idea. Of course once I got her pants off, all she wanted to do was put on her nightshirt and go to bed. Oh well, I know how tired she is these days. I can't exactly expect her to be interested in sex at the moment. Still, sometimes it's difficult. Especially knowing that once the baby arrives, we'll have several more weeks to wait. Not to mention a screaming baby that's gonna require much of Abby's attention and energy. But things will get back to normal someday. Twenty, thirty years from now when I'm almost too old to care. 

I heave a sigh and head downstairs, figuring that maybe I should get Abby a little snack. Unfortunately when I open the freezer, I find that we are out of ice cream. Now this could be a real problem. I'm falling down on the job, letting the supply disappear like this. I should go and get some. Then again, she hasn't asked for it yet and this could be one of those pizza nights instead. I wonder if we have anything else good around here. Some sort of reasonable substitute for ice cream. I search through the cabinets and find a box of instant pudding. That's close. They're both cold and soft. You eat them both with a spoon. They both taste like chocolate. I mix up the pudding and put it in the fridge, then putter around the kitchen straightening up while the pudding sets. As soon as it's ready, I head back up stairs, two spoons and a big bowl of pudding in my hands. Going to meet Abby in the bedroom with a bowl full of pudding. I grin thinking about what this would usually mean. Not tonight. But that's okay. I just hope the pudding makes up for the lack of ice cream.

I turn into our bedroom and what I see stops me cold. I manage to put the pudding down on the dresser without spilling it before I rush across the room to Abby's side. She's down on the floor on her hands and knees. Completely naked. Normally, a sight like this would be an immediate turn on for me. Now all it means to me is fear. 

"Abby? What is it?" She turns her head slowly and gives me a dark look.

"It's a baby. Reclining right on the base of my spine."

"But you're okay."

"Yeah."

"Why are you naked?"

"I just got out of the shower. Is there some law against being naked?"

"No … it's just kinda … dangerous." To my sanity, anyway.

"What?"

"Nothing. So why are you on the floor?"

"I just thought if let my belly hang, maybe the pressure would be off my back for a minute. It's been flaring up all day and it's getting worse. It just hurts." She sounds very near tears as she says this. 

"Where? Here?" I ask as I move my hands to the small of her back and begin massaging, applying a good amount of pressure. "Does this help?"

"Yeah. Thanks. Oh, why won't it come out already? God, I've tried everything. We've walked miles. I drank castor oil. I drank orange juice and baking soda. I've been rubbing my nipples all day." 

"What?" I give her a quizzical look. 

"Nipple stimulation. It's supposed to be good for getting labor started." 

"Oh, that's right. I could help you out with that, if you want." I slide my hand from the small of her back around to her belly, and up over the baby bulge. I gently cradle her swollen breast in my hand and then begin rubbing lightly. 

"Mmm. Why does it feel so much better when you do it?" She asks. She's arched her back slightly and seems to be enjoying this. And here I was afraid that she would swat my hand away. 

"Because I've got magic hands." 

"Oh yeah?" 

"Uh-huh." I move my hand up along her back and push her hair off to the side before leaning down to kiss her neck. "You know what else is supposed to be good for starting labor?" 

"Hmm, what would that be, Dr. Carter?" 

"Sex."

"You don't say. Well, I guess if it's what I have to do to get this baby out of me …"

"Well, that would be ironic, wouldn't it?" 

"I believe you were saying something about 'magic hands?' Would you care to prove that?"

"Come on." I say, moving away from her as I sit back on my heels and hold out my hand. "Let me help you to bed."

"What's wrong with right here?" Our eyes lock for a minute. And she then she raises her eyebrows to me as a grin spreads across her face. Well, if that's how she feels about it … I quickly shed my clothes and move around behind her.

"Like this?" I ask. 

"Do you have a better idea with this belly?" 

"If it works for you …" I say, running my hands over her widened hips and round butt. Normally, we'd spend more time on foreplay, but I don't think that's in the cards tonight. Lord knows, I don't really need it with the state that I'm already in just from being so close to a very naked Abby. 

As for Abby, I think that tonight is one time she may be interested in just getting right to it. I know that for her this is a means to an end, I just hope she'll enjoy the process, too. Maybe not as much as usual, considering her advanced state of pregnancy and the fact that pregnant orgasms can be rather hard to come by. Although Abby assures me that they are worth the wait. And one of those elusive things would probably be good tonight as it would encourage the contracting of the uterus that Abby's anxiously awaiting. Not to mention that it might relax her enough to let her get some sleep. One way or the other, I hope this works because I know how ready Abby is to have this baby. 

"Don't take all night, Carter. My arms are going to get tired. Besides, _nipple_ stimulation is supposed to be good for bringing on labor, I've never heard anything about butt cheek stimulation."

Okay, so I got a little lost. Sue me. It's been a while since I've had a chance to admire this view. "Well, Ab … if nipple stimulation is what is takes … It's a tough job, but I guess someone has to do it." 

I can just imagine the eye roll that must have inspired. But hopefully her expression is changing now as lean forward, running my hands up her back and then around her side, finding her breasts. I cup them gently in my palms before beginning to rub in tight circles. Thanks to the pregnancy, her nipples are much more pronounced and much more sensitive. I pinch lightly and she moans deeply. Her back arches and her hips push back against mine, wriggling a bit and encouraging me to move things right along. 

I lean down to kiss her neck and then move my lips over to her ear where I nibble slightly and then whisper, "You ready?" 

She nods in response. I carefully move one hand off her breast and slide it over her back and then in to the warmth between her legs. Testing the waters, so to speak. At my touch she shudders and sighs, showing me that, indeed, she is ready. As am I. More than ready. I think I've been on standby for days now.

I move into the proper position behind her, and slip inside of her easily, moving slowly. After all, I'm not exactly sure what's going on in there, and I don't want to hurt her. I find a nice gentle rhythm that I think will suit us both. But suddenly Abby is pushing back against me, begging for more. I respond with more forceful thrusts. She gasps, and I freeze. 

"What?" she pants, looking over her shoulder at me through heavily lidded eyes.

"I thought I hurt you." 

"No, that was a good moan."

"Okay. Good." I move my hands to her hips and hold them in place as I begin slow strokes once again. Abby sighs and moans as I run my hands up her supple back and around to her chest. I caress her swollen breasts once again which seems to intensify her moans. Leaning over, I kiss her back, her shoulder, her neck. As our rhythm gets faster and faster, I let one hand travel over the bulge of her belly and in between her legs. Another gasp. And then her whole body stiffens. Wow. Already? That was fast. Maybe not so elusive after all tonight. 

"John!" 

"Oh, Abby …" I moan. I hadn't intended for it be this quick, but it really wouldn't take much to encourage my release, considering how long it's been. 

"No, John. Stop!" 

"What's wrong?" I ask, stopping all movement. 

"Contraction." She gasps, out of breath, either from our activities or the pain of the contraction.

"A big one?" I ask, pulling out and rearranging my hands on her body. I rub her swollen belly, hoping to ease the discomfort. 

She nods in response. Nods emphatically, in fact. 

"Like, the real thing?" Her breathing is measured and even, her eyes closed. But after a moment, she seems to relax. 

"No, I thought so at first." She looks over at me and smiles. "I was pretty impressed because I thought you really worked fast. But it was just more Braxton-Hicks, I think."

"Oh. Sorry." 

"You should be. This is all your fault." She's smiling, so I laugh, knowing that she doesn't really mean it.

"So?" I ask her. Since I'm still incredibly aroused, I'd like to get back to our former activity, but maybe she won't want to now. 

"Can you help me up?" 

"You wanna move to the bed?" 

"I have to pee."

I stifle a groan of frustration as I watch her walk off to the bathroom. I can't seem to take my eyes off of her. Which really isn't helping me in my current state. I climb into bed and concentrate on thinking thoughts that are not erotic. Baseball, the old standard, doesn't really work. It just makes me think of how cute Abby looks in a baseball cap. How cute she would look in a baseball cap and nothing else.

"Argh." I let out that groan of frustration and punch a pillow a few times. That also doesn't help much. 

And then Abby reappears. She wanders across the room while I stare, transfixed at her naked form. When she gets to the dresser, she finds the bowl of pudding, forgotten in all the … um, excitement. She dips in a finger and then brings it up to her lips, licking at the chocolate. Oh, she's killing me. Absolutely killing me. 

"Abby …" It comes out as a moan, the complaint behind it quite obvious. 

"Sorry," she says, giggling. 

"You could bring that over here, you know."

"Why? What were you planning to do with it?" 

"Eat it?" I ask.

She laughs. "I take it you mean the pudding." 

"Uh … yeah." 

"I think the pudding can wait until later." 

"Oh yeah?" I ask.

"Yeah." She comes over and climbs into the bed. "So … where were we?" 

"You still want to?"

"Absolutely. After all, we didn't get to finish." She runs her hand down my chest, over my stomach and then down even further so that she can grasp my erection. "I wouldn't want to leave you in this state. Besides, I need your semen."

"I think you already got it a while ago. That's the reason for this, " I laugh, poking her rounded stomach. 

"That's not what I mean." She's still lightly stroking me and driving me wild. "It's some protein or something in the semen that encourages the cervix to thin out and dilate." 

"Oh, so is that the only reason you want me? It's all about just getting that baby out, huh?"

"Well, I think it's the least you can do since you are the one that got the baby in there." She turns her head and kisses me on the lips. Lightly at first and then with growing passion. "No, it's not the _only_ reason I want you. I'm just glad you still want me. I wouldn't blame you if you weren't interested. "

"I always want you, Abby."

She lets go of me and turns over, resuming her former hands-and-knees position. "Then take me." 

Oh, I'd be glad to. I get up on my knees and quickly mount her from behind. My hands wander over her butt and her back. And then I remember about the nipple stimulation and move on to her breasts. Kneading, rubbing, pinching. I'm pushing into her with a steady rhythm and her hips are moving back to meet each thrust. We're both grunting and moaning as the pace increases. I feel her inner muscles tight around me as she squirms against my hips. I'm not going to last much longer. 

"Abby, I'm getting close."

"Me too, baby. Me too." Time to help her along a bit. I slip my hand back in between her legs. My fingers slip between her warm, moist folds and find her magic nub. Soft feathery touches and then much more forceful strokes soon have her writhing against my hand. 

"Oh … oh … John … yes … yes!" She screams as the orgasm takes over her body. The spasms in her body are all it takes to pull me right over the edge too. 

"Abby!" I call out as I explode inside her. Several smalls jerks and involuntary muscle spasms later, I wrap my arms around her tight and roll us over as one unit, on to our sides. We lie spooned together like that, catching our breath. 

"Oh, Abby … that was …"

"Incredible." 

"Yeah. Thank you." I kiss her shoulder and sense the smile on her face.

"Well, I hope you enjoyed it while you could." 

"Yeah, if it worked, and you go into labor, it'll be a while until the next time." I acknowledge. 

She turns over in my arms, lying on her back and looking up at me. "If it worked, this will be the last time … I mean, next time it'll all be different." 

"Different? What do you mean?"

"Well, besides having a baby in the house making things a lot more complicated …" She trails off and looks up at me, biting on her lip. Something is making her nervous.

"What?" 

"Well, _I'll_ be different." I must give her a blank look because she explains further. "You know, having a baby changes things. I might not be as … uh … toned, so to speak. Not to mention that fact that I'll be lactating." 

"It doesn't matter, Abby. You'll still be you. And the sex will still be incredible. Slightly more hurried and maybe not as spontaneous, but still incredible."

"I hope so. I don't want you to be disappointed with me." 

"Don't worry about it, babe. I could never be disappointed with you." I lean down and kiss her gently. Then I pull my lips away from hers and plant a trail of kisses over her chin, down her neck, down her chest and to her breasts. I figure I better enjoy these while I can, too. Soon enough they'll be property of the baby, and I don't know how Abby will feel about sharing. I move my mouth over one of her nipples and begin suckling gently. 

"What are you doing?"

"Nipple stimulation." I say looking up at her with a grin. "Just trying to help out anyway I can." 

"Well, don't do anything you don't want to do." 

"Oh, don't worry, I won't." I tell her, returning to the tasks at hand. 

I feel her hand in my hair, smoothing it back softly. I caress her breasts gently with my mouth and my hand, trying to find a soothing, relaxing tempo. It must work because soon enough her hand slips from my head and I realize her chest is rising and falling in shallow even breaths. I pull away from her and look up to see her eyes closed and her face relaxed. I rearrange myself so that I'm lying next to her wit my arm draped casually over the baby. I can feel just the faintest kicks and thumps from the child within. In her sleep, Abby turns in my arms to lie with her belly to mine. I kiss her forehead and pat the baby, realizing that soon there will be three of us here in this bed. Abby and me … and our baby. A brand new little person that she has grown and nurtured inside her body for nine months, to whom she will soon give birth. I close my eyes thinking, yet again, how grateful I am to be a part of a such an amazing miracle..


	10. Baby Time

__

Title: This Thing About Birthdays

Author: Andrea

Rating: R. Yes, I do mean R. As in "not suitable for children under 17." This chapter contains adult themes. So as #2 helpfully suggested, it's being rated TVDon'tLetAnyoneUnder17ReadIt. That means you, your kid sister, the neighbor kids, the children you're baby-sitting, and probably even your grandma. But since she's undoubtedly over 17, that's up to you.

Summary: She's having a baby. 

Author's Note: Thanks to Cath and Kel for the editing and the helpful suggestions. And a special thanks to Kel (#2 to you) because I flat out stole some of her dialogue. But then, can you steal something that's been given to you? Probably not. But anyway … thanks #2. And #2, sorry I didn't work in that word that you wanted. I'll save it for the next smutfest fic, okay? To everyone else … thanks for reading. And, as usual, I know that review button is just calling your name. 

*~*~*~* 

This Thing About Birthdays

Part II

Chapter 10: Baby Time

I wake up and right away I know something is different. For one thing, there is light streaming in through the windows. I struggle to prop myself up on my elbows and look over at the clock. Eight o'clock in the morning. How did that happen? The last thing I remember, I was lying in John's arms and he was bound and determined to do whatever it took to get me into labor. I know all that nipple stimulation must have been tough on him, but he's a good guy so he does what he can. But how did I get here from there? I know I suffer from a lot of pregnancy-induced forgetfulness, but I usually remember nocturnal stirrings. But I don't remember a thing. No middle-of-the-night snack, no trips to the bathroom. In fact, my bladder is about to explode. I push the covers back and maneuver myself to my feet. Oh look, I'm still naked. I guess I really did sleep through the night. Well, that's a first in … weeks. Months maybe. We might have to try that sex thing more often. 

I waddle into the bathroom thinking that maybe my good night's sleep accounts for the difference in the way I feel this morning. Energized, yet relaxed. Yesterday I was overcome with a bout of nervous energy that left me scurrying around the house. But this morning, it's different. I'm rested and full of energy, but at the same time I feel very calm. The calm before the storm? Ha, probably just wishful thinking. Although suddenly, I don't feel such a desperate need to be done with this pregnancy. In fact, I almost think that I might miss it. After I've completed my rituals in the bathroom, I stand looking at myself in the full length mirror. And I realize that whether it's today or tomorrow or next week, someday in the very near future I won't look like this anymore. In some ways, I'll be glad to get my body back … well, sort of get my body back, anyway. But then again … as my hand caresses my firm, large, rounded belly I realize there are things I will miss. I'll miss being a part of this miracle. All I have to do is look down at my full body to be reminded of how lucky I am. This being pregnant thing can be pretty cool. Of course there are plenty of things about it that are anything but cool. Hard to imagine that I might actually miss this cumbersome body, but I know I will. I'll miss feeling the baby's movements inside of me. I'll miss having my child with me, sheltered inside of me, all the time. I might even miss the fact that my belly, with all its roundness announcing the happy event, draws constant smiles from strangers and friends alike. And if I'm being perfectly honest, I'll miss having Carter at my beck and call, too. 

Carter. I twist the rings on my left hand as I think about how lucky I am to have him. He's been so great through this whole thing. Anything I've wanted, he's gotten for me. Nothing has been too much to ask. And he's been there every step of the way. Right there holding my hand and carrying my pillows for the childbirth classes. Even managing to look interested and attentive during the breast-feeding class. Knowing that he'll be right by my side when this baby is born helps ease whatever apprehension I have about labor and delivery. Sometimes knowing too much can be scarier than knowing nothing at all. But John reassures me that it'll be fine, I'll be great, and he won't leave me side. I look over at him sound asleep on the bed where he is lying on his stomach (how nice would that be?) hugging his pillow with his tousled hair sticking up in all directions. There's something so sweet about him when he's asleep. He looks just like a little boy … preview of things to come very soon. Someday soon it will be our child that I'll be watching over in its sleep. Maybe our little boy will look just like his daddy.. Or our little girl. Whichever. I look back at my reflection in the mirror, watching my hand trail over my pregnant belly and the child within. This little baby bulge has been with me so long, it's going to seem very strange when it's not there anymore. Although it might be kind of nice to be able to see my feet again, and leave this bloated belly behind. Plus, I can't wait to see who's in there. 

Whoever is in there is stirring around a bit. The movement and kicks have really slowed down this past month, and especially the past few days. But there's a little flurry of activity now. I look down, and I can watch, as well as feel, the movement. Poke. There's a little foot sticking out. I move my hand over the spot and give the bump a little squeeze. In goes that foot. But … oh, there's the other one. I'll miss this little show once I'm not pregnant anymore. But then I guess I'll have a new show to watch. Namely a newborn baby to watch with fascination. While I'm still busy poking back at the baby that's poking at me, I suddenly feel a little trickle running down my leg. Son of a bitch. I just peed. Okay, this is one part of pregnancy I can do without. Although usually something like a sneeze or a laugh (or a sharp kick directly to the bladder) is required for this kind of … um, leakage. And I swear I managed to completely empty my bladder just a few minutes ago. Wait a second. Maybe I didn't just pee all over myself. Maybe … well, my water didn't exactly break, but maybe it sprung a leak. This could be a step in the right direction. Or it could be the beginning of several days of leaving random wet spots. 

Either way, I need a towel. I've just walked back into the bathroom when it starts. I feel the first spasms in my back and the pain makes me suck in my breath. I brace myself on the counter as the cramp wraps around to my abdomen and all my muscles seem to clamp down and tighten. Oh. Ouch. Crap. Shit. This hurts. Uh … breathe. Right. I stop holding my breath and try to relax as I exhale. Okay. Better. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. The pain seems to be fading. And then it's gone. Braxton-Hicks? I don't think so. Those hurt, but not like this. I look over at the clock in the bedroom, making note of the time. This might just be the real thing. This was certainly something new. Braxton-Hicks, my ass. And those never started in my back. 

My back. Well, shit. All day yesterday my back kept flaring up. Weird little spasms and mild pain. With all the extra weight of lugging around a twenty-five pound pack of baby belly, my back has been sore most of the third trimester. I assumed that's what was happening yesterday. But those "flare ups" came and went all day. At regular intervals? With increasing frequency? I can't remember. And I never even thought that it could be the beginning of labor. Wow, all those years in OB were apparently a big waste. I'm not even sure now if I'm in labor. What should I do? Wake Carter? Go to the hospital right now? And what if it's a false alarm? What if I end up stuck in the hospital for days? Or having to come back home again, still pregnant? Yuck. Okay … maybe I should just wait and see what happens. 

I collect my towel and head back to bed. Might as well get some rest while I'm waiting around. If I am going into labor, I'll need all the rest I can get. I lie down carefully on my towel … as if that's gonna do anything to soak up the tide if my membranes rupture. But it'll help with the leaking, if, in fact, my amniotic fluid is slowly seeping out. Of course I could maybe put on some clothes on and even find some sort of pad to soak up any leakage, but that seems like entirely too much trouble. Besides once Carter knows that I might be in labor, he's sure to want to examine me. And if we're going to the hospital I'll need to take a shower. Especially after last night's activities. Huh. It worked. Who knew? Okay, so maybe it was starting already, but our little romp last night does seem to have helped to speed things along. Maybe. Either way I won't complain. It was fun, and possibly productive too, so what's to complain about? 

Well, maybe this next contraction that's starting up, just like the last one. I'm prepared this time, though, and I find that it passes with relatively little pain so long as I stay relaxed. Okay, maybe there's something to be said for this whole Lamaze bullshit. I can't imagine that it's nearly as effective an epidural, but it doesn't come with a big needle stick in the back, a urine catheter, and numb legs. Then again, this is pretty early in the process, and I probably won't get the full intensity until after my water breaks. I remember to look over at the clock as the contraction is fading away. Eight minutes apart. Okay, not bad. As long as they are consistent. Now it's just a waiting game. I lie here on my side, with Carter snoring behind me, and watch the clock. The minutes are ticking away slowly. Geez, this is boring. No one ever tells you it's gonna be boring. But I'm really bored. I could wake up Carter. No. Bad idea. He'll freak out if I wake him up. Better to let him sleep while I wait around to see what's going on. I go back to watching the clock. Eight minutes since the last one. Nine minutes. Ten minutes. And then my back clenches up. Deep breath … let it out as the pain creeps around to the front. I move one hand to low on my stomach and rub. That helps. But my back still hurts. I move my other hand around to the small of my back and push. Better. 

Once the pain recedes again, I'm back to my thumb-twiddling routine. I look back over at the clock and catch a glimpse of our wedding picture on the night stand where it's been for the past three months. It's collected three months of dust too, I realize as I pick it up for a closer look. There we are. Me in a simple, cream-colored dress, my hair swept up with curls falling down alongside my face. My bouquet made up of red and pink and white roses, as an acknowledgment of the day. John in a black suit, a favorite of mine, along with a cream shirt and tie, red rose boutonniere . Both of us smiling into the camera. Happy to be married. Happy to have gotten through the day relatively unscathed. 

The whole thing went surprisingly smoothly considering our families were involved. It took place just the way John has suggested, in one of the hotel ballrooms on Valentine's Day. And it was really beautiful. Not too fancy and not too plain. Not too big or too small. All our friends and family were there. Susan was my maid of honor. Carter asked his cousin Chase, in spite of his handicaps, to be the best man. Eric walked me down the aisle. My mom cried. The Carters refrained from staging a protest. Susan did an impressive job of only blowing her nose once during the ceremony. Chase managed to not run anyone down in his 'mighty wheelchair,' as he likes to call his motorized chair and laughed when Eric first asked him where his cape was and then requested that he pop a wheelie. So basically everyone was on their best behavior. Well, all except for that one incident with Maggie and Jack over the punch bowl. She called it being friendly, I called it "just get away from my father-in-law before things get ugly." 

But aside from that, Maggie was fine. She was, of course, thrilled to see me getting married. And even more excited because I was about to make her a grandmother. As soon as she found out about the baby, she started sewing tiny clothes for the little one. And then she put that aside to make my wedding dress, saving me the embarrassment of having to look for a maternity wedding gown. When she came to town a week before the wedding to help pull it all together, I'll admit I was skeptical. But we didn't kill each other. We actually had fun and managed to do some mother-daughter bonding. And even with all the excitement from the wedding, Mom managed to stay on an even keel and was acting … normal at the wedding. So was Eric. No untoward incidents occurred. Although in his excitement over becoming an uncle, my brother did ask me, rather loudly and exuberantly, how old the baby would have to before he could start giving it flying lessons. Seems he was thinking maybe five. I told him sixty-five … because maybe I'll be dead by then. And God knows if I'm not dead the day my brother takes my child up in a plane, knowledge of that adventure would surely kill me. 

Luckily the only one of John's family to overhear that conversation was Jack, and he seemed to take it all as one big joke -- little did he know that Eric was completely serious. And actually, Jack seemed to find my family to be amusing all the way around. And he genuinely seemed happy to have me for a daughter-in-law. Eleanor and Gamma seemed decidedly less thrilled about me marrying into the family, but at least they were resigned. They both offered somewhat reluctant congratulations, but seemed to show some interest in the baby. And in the weeks following the wedding, Gamma had seemed more and more willing to accept me into the family, and more and more excited about her great-grandchild. Her death came as a sad shock to both of us. And John is still torn up over it. I know how sad he is that his grandmother will never get to see her great-grandchild. 

I wondered if it would change his feelings about the names we'd chosen for the baby. Unlike most other couples, we'd spent our wedding night discussing baby names, finally nailing down our final choices for both a boy and a girl. Our wedding weekend was spent in the same suite we'd spent my birthday weekend in. It was a wonderful little mini-honeymoon. Even if most of it was given over to discussion of baby names. Well that, and discussing the move into our new house. When we do something, John and I, we like to do it big. Why just get married when you can get married, buy a house and have a baby all at the same time? And what better way to spend your honeymoon than arguing over baby names? But at least all that arguing had resulted in us eventually coming to an agreement. But maybe John is having second thoughts now, in the wake of his grandmother's death. I'll have to be sure to ask him. 

If he ever wakes up. What? Is he going to sleep all day? I wasn't going to wake him, but at this rate I think he might sleep until the baby's first birthday. The contractions are coming pretty regularly. Nine minutes, eight minutes, ten minutes apart. But the last three have been at the eight minute mark. And this one started barely six minutes after the last one ended. Yep, okay. That's it. This is getting serious. Time to go. 

"John?" I roll over onto my back and shake his shoulders. Nothing. He doesn't even stir. 

"John?" Still nothing. 

"John!" Louder this time. He rolls over onto his back, dangerously close to the side of the bed. Oh well. 

"Carter!!" 

"Huh?!" He sits up all at once, his limbs splaying out like newborn displaying the startle response, just before he falls off the bed and onto the floor. 

I lean over the bed and look at him sprawled on the floor, sheet wrapped all around him. "You okay?" 

"Yeah. What happened?" 

"You fell out of bed. " 

"Huh." He says as he gets up and sits on the edge of the bed, scratching his head and yawning. 

"I'm glad you're awake, though."

"Oh yeah?" He waggles his eyebrows at me. "Looking for a repeat performance of last night?" 

"What is it with you and mornings?"

"Hey, I can't help it that I wake up like this."

"Well, you're gonna have to take a cold shower this morning." 

"Not in the mood?"

I laugh at that. "Not exactly. I think last night worked all too well." 

"Huh?"

"It's time."

"Time for what?" Carter says, looking over at the clock. "It's not even ten o'clock on a Sunday morning. I'm not working today so…" 

"No, John. It's _time._" He gives me a blank look. Geez, this is just like when I told him I was pregnant. I tried to ease into it by telling him I was late, and he kept asking me what I was late _for_. "Time. Time. You know, baby time." 

"Baby time?! You're in labor? Are you having contractions? Did your membranes rupture? How far dilated are you?" 

"Um … yes, yes, no, and how the hell would I know -- I can barely tie my own shoes these days, did you expect me to examine myself?"

"Oh, yeah. Right." He gestures for me to roll over.

"What?" I ask.

"Roll over and I'll take a look."

"I don't think so,"

"Abby … come on. I'm a doctor. Let me look. That way we'll know what's going on." I knew this would happen. Maybe I should have taken a cab to the hospital. "Abby." He gives me the stubborn stern look.

"Fine." But I don't have to like it. I roll over. Which is pretty damn uncomfortable right now. He moves over next to me. Pushes my knees open … "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Whoa. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Which is better than waking up on the floor like I did. I guess that's really the wrong side, huh Ab?"

"I woke up having God damn contractions this morning. And lying here on my back really isn't making me feel any better. And if you think you're just gonna stick your hand up me like that, you better think again. Would you do that with a patient?"

"You want me to use a glove?" He gives me a confused look. 

"No, not a _glove_." I tell him in sing song voice. 

"Oh! Right. Okay, yeah, I guess you need a little something to make it more comfortable." 

"Ya think?"

"Let's see." He says, rummaging around in nightstand. "Vaseline? Baby oil? Oh, here's that flavored stuff …" 

"Don't even think about it. Go get the good stuff."

"Where is it?"

"In the drawer."

"Which drawer?"

Which drawer to you think, asshole? "You know, the bottom drawer. _That _drawer."

"Oh, _that_ drawer. Right. You know, Ab … we're gonna have to find a new place for that … stuff. Or at least do some baby proofing." He says, as he climbs back onto the bed and moves over me. Yeah, because I don't have anything else to worry about at the moment.

"Ow!" I cry as he starts to check me.

"What? It hurts?" He asks immediately.

"Little bit." I say with as much sarcasm as I can muster. What the hell is he doing in there? Digging for gold? "Jesus Christ, John!"

"What?"

"You're poking the shit out of my … hoohah. Lay off, would you?"

"Just a minute, I'm just trying to --"

"Are you sure you've done this before? God, hurry up." 

"Okay, I think …" 

Oh crap, here comes another contraction. "Get out. Get out! GET OUT!" 

He pulls his hand away as I roll over onto my side. "What? Did I hurt you that much?"

"Contraction." I manage to get out through gritted teeth. 

"What can I do?"

"My back." I say. "Push on it." I pull his fist into the small of my back and move my own hands low on my protruding belly. With his free hand, John smoothes back my hair while whispering comforting noises in my ear. The pain starts to let up and I relax, blowing out a breath.

"Bad?"

"Not a picnic in the park, that's for sure."

"Sorry."

"Pfft! I'll bet."

"Abby!" I give him a look. And then he smiles at me. "The good new is: you're a good three centimeters. Maybe even four. I couldn't tell for sure the way you were squirming around. Membranes are intact, but it's a bulging bag. I think we're on our way." Oh, thank God. It's not all in my head. 

"Do you think we should go to the hospital?"

"How far apart are the contractions?"

"About eight minutes. Six, the last time. This time was about …" I look at the clock. "Seven minutes."

"How long has this been going on?" 

"I woke up about two hours ago, so I guess that's probably when it started."

"Why didn't you wake me sooner? We could have been to the hospital by now." 

"Well, I didn't want to get there just to have to turn around and come home again. And I really didn't want to get there any earlier than necessary." 

"Well, I think it's necessary now. We don't know how fast you'll go."

"First babies aren't exactly notorious for coming out quickly. We've probably got at least another twelve hours to go." 

"But you never know. And better safe than sorry, right?" 

"I guess. Yeah. Okay, let me just take a shower. The bags are in the closet. Can you call my mom? And Susan?"

"And maybe your doctor?"

"Good idea. But call Maggie first. She asked us to call right away. She said she wants to get here as soon as she can." I call over my shoulder as I head back into the bathroom. Might as well pee again while I'm here. And then I get into the shower. It does seem kinda silly, taking a shower just to go give birth, but I figure I might as well start out with a clean slate. I haven't gotten much past standing under the hot water when the door opens and Carter steps in. 

"What are you doing?" I ask him.

"I thought you might want some help."

"Don't get any funny ideas." 

"Abby! Geez, you're in _labor_."

"Just remember that." And then, as a helpful demonstration, the next contraction hits. "Uhn." I … grunt, reaching around to my back. 

"What?" 

"Contraction." What do you think, John? Charlie horse? 

"Oh!" And he wraps one arm around me to rub my belly while the other hand pushes into the small of my back. He does a much better job of that than I do. 

"Oh, that's better." 

"Relax. Just relax. Breathe." His voice is soft and soothing. I take comfort in it now. But I wonder what will happen a few hours from now. Will he still be as concerned and patient and helpful? Yeah, probably. Will I care? Probably not. Will I be screaming obscenities at him regardless of how sweet he's being? Probably. The pain dissipates and I turn around in his arms.

"It's over?"

"Yep."

"Was it a bad one?"

"No, not too bad yet. But getting stronger."

He smiles at me. That same awestruck smile I've seen so many times in this process. "This is it, Ab. In a few hours, we'll have a baby. We'll be a family. The next time we come home, there will be three of us." 

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too." 

"I want you to remember that." 

"Abby … are you worried that something might go wrong?" 

"No. I'm worried about the hateful things that I might scream at you in couple hours. But no matter what I say, I want you to remember that I really do love you." 

"And no matter what you say, I will get to touch you again, right?" 

"Probably. Depends on how much this whole thing hurts." 

"Fair enough." He says with a grin. 

"Did you call everybody?"

"Yep. You're mom's calling our travel agent to try and get a flight." 

"She's really coming right now?"

"Yeah. You said she wanted to." 

"I know. That's what she told me … but I didn't know if she'd really do it." I know how excited she is, but still, a part of me doubted that she'd actually come through. I feel a lump forming in my throat. Surprise, surprise -- I actually want her here. I never would have imagined that. 

"Well, I think she will if she can … but with the holiday and all …"

"Holiday?"

"It's Memorial Day weekend, remember?"

"No. But who travels in the middle of a long weekend?"

"Good point. Maybe she'll have good luck getting a flight. My parents are working on getting here too. And Susan is mobilizing the local troops, so it should be quite the party." 

"Party? Some party. Do me a favor? I'm not sure I want the entire 'party' in my room, okay?" 

"Sure. Whatever you want. It can be just us, if that's what you're most comfortable with."

"Thanks." 

During all this, Carter's been carefully helping me get shampooed, shaved and washed. Once I'm all done, and after the next contraction is over, he helps me out of the shower so that he can have it to himself. I manage to get myself dried off and dressed with just one small break to breathe through the peak of a contraction. I see that John has gotten our suitcase and the diaper bag out and set them in the middle of the bedroom. I debate about at least taking the diaper bag downstairs, but hell, he's not having contractions so I guess that's his job. 

I head down the hall toward the kitchen in the back. I want to check the answering machine and make sure my mom didn't call while we were in the shower. No message light blinking, but while I'm in the kitchen, I figure maybe I ought to make myself useful while I wait for Carter. I'm not supposed to eat anything, but I should probably feed him. I wouldn't want him passing out from low blood sugar. I'm just putting the scrambled eggs on a plate when John appears in the room.

"Abby! What are you doing? You can't eat."

"I'm not eating." Not really. Okay, so maybe I had a bite of toast -- okay, a piece of toast. And few bites of egg. I'm hungry and it's going to be a long time before I can get a decent meal. 

"Abby, you really can't eat." 

"Well, not once I get to the hospital, I can't." 

"You shouldn't be eating at all." I stick out my tongue at him. "I'm not going to let you eat that." 

"It's for you anyway. Although now I'm not sure you deserve it." 

"Oh. Sorry." I might have made him pay, but since he was partly right about me trying to sneak a snack, I'm feeling a little guilty, so I'll just let it drop. 

I hand him the plate of eggs and toast and promptly drop into a chair at the table. 

"Contraction?"

"Yeah." He puts the food down on the table and kneels down next to me. He somehow manages to get one hand between me and the chair to rub my back while I hold onto his other hand. 

"How far apart now?" He asks, once I let go of my grip on his hand. 

"Still about seven, eight minutes." He nods, looking at his watch. He'll probably take over as time keeper now. "Oh God." I say.

"What?" He asks. 

"I'm gonna have a baby." He looks up at me and laughs. "I mean, you know, in a matter of … hours. It just seems so weird. I mean, I got up and took a shower and got dressed. Came down here and made breakfast like it was any other day. But this is it. Our baby 's gonna be born. It's the first day of the rest of our lives." 

"Yeah." He agrees between bites of egg that he's shoveling down. 

"I guess I thought I would feel different. But I feel the same. Except for these annoying pains every eight minutes. It's just that … it's a big moment. There should be something to mark it. But when I'm not having contractions, I feel just like I felt yesterday and the day before. But this isn't like any other day."

"No, it's not. Today's the day we become a family. Assuming that baby comes out today."

"Don't even say that." I groan as Carter puts his glass and plate and the egg pan into the dishwasher. 

"Okay, today it is."

"May 25th." I say. "It used to be just another date on the calendar, I had no idea that one day it would be my child's birthday. But now it will always be special."

"The best day of our lives."

"Well, one of them anyway."

"You really think it'll be today? I mean, I know you're _hoping_, but …"

"Yeah, I do. I have a feeling."

"Mother's intuition."

"I guess."

"So we'll have a Sunday's child."

"What?" I ask.

"You know … the nursery rhyme." I shake my head. "Sure you do. Monday's child is fair of face. Tuesday's child is full of grace." 

"Nope. Never heard it." 

"Oh." He smiles and shrugs. 

"So what's Sunday's child?" I ask.

"Sunday's the best one. 'The child born on the Sabbath day is bonny and blithe and good and gay.'"

"That's a _nursery rhyme_? What the hell kind of kid knows what 'blithe' means? Or even the Sabbath? I mean … geez."

"I didn't write it, Ab." He comes over and kisses my forehead. Just in time, as it turns out. I reach out and grab his hand. "Another one?" He asks, noting the time. "That was six minutes. Guess we better get going." 

"Okay." I agree.

I let him collect the bags and take my arm to lead me down the back hallway to the garage where he helps me into the car. We drive away from our house as a couple, but we'll come back as a family. And I realize that we are just starting the greatest adventure of our lives. 


	11. Labor Day

__

Title: This Thing About Birthdays 

Author: Andrea (carbylove@aol.com)

Rating: R. Still. Get used to it.

Author's Note: Thank for the brainstorming and the editing, Kel. Thanks for the advice and praise, Courtney. Thanks for the reading and reviewing, everyone else. And if you are still reading at this point, I'd love to hear what you think. 

~*~*~*~

This Thing About Birthdays

Part II

Chapter 11: Labor Day

"It's Carter." I say for the fourth time, with growing impatience. "Abigail." 

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't have a record of a pre-registration under that name." The desk clerk looks up at me with a cheerful smile. She looks about fourteen years old. It's probably her first day. "Maybe you came to the wrong hospital." She suggests helpfully. 

"No, we've got the right place. We work here. So I'm pretty sure we're at the right place." Abby's standing behind me, breathing her way through a contraction. She's leaning on me with both her hands on my shoulders, her forehead resting on my back. I can hear her suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Try, Lockhart." I suggest to the clerk. "L-O-C-K-H-A-R-T." Just to be sure. 

"First name?" The clerk gives me the same bubbly smile.

"Abigail." I say, tightly. Behind me, the Abigail in question is keening and rubbing her head against my back in agitation. 

"No, sorry. Nothing under that name."

"Try Abby." I say. "With a 'y.' A-B-B-Y."

"Last name?" Is she asking which one I want her to try? Or has she really just forgotten?

"Either. Both!" I feel Abby pull away from me and move to my side. Uh-oh.

"Carter!" She yells at the clerk. "Carter! Carter! Carter! I filled out the damn forms myself! What is the point of pre-registration if I have to stand in the hall arguing over what my name is for twelve hours? Maybe it's escaped you, but I'm God damn having contractions here! I want a room and I want it now!" She screeches at the girl. "Unless you want me to give birth on your desk." Abby offers, in a perfectly rational voice. 

"Oh! Abby Carter. Here it is." 

"It's a miracle." Abby says, dryly. 

And then, like magic, our presence is acknowledged, we're whisked off to a room, and a nurse even shows up. 

It doesn't take long for Abby to get gowned up and settled in. But she's barely had a chance to get in the bed when the nurse pulls up her gown, exposing her round belly, to place the fetal monitor. I find myself holding my breath, watching our nurse move the monitor slowly over Abby's belly, waiting for her to pinpoint the best place to track the heartbeat.

"There it is." She says, as we hear the heartbeat resounding in the room. 

I look up at the monitor screen and am glad to see the heart rate bouncing around in the 150s. Another contraction comes over Abby, as I can see from both the screen and the look on Abby's face. I move closer to the bed and pick up Abby's hand, watching as her face changes as the pain ebbs and flows. I keep one eye on the monitor, glad to see that the baby's heart rate remains strong throughout the contraction. Which means that so far the baby seems to be tolerating labor well. Of course it's still early yet, but this is a good sign.

"I'm going to have to check you now." I don't know if the clenched look on Abby's face is a response to her incredibly cheerful nurse or if it's the thought of an exam that has her tense. 

"Okay, membranes intact. And … you're about four centimeters." 

"Dammit!" I turn my head at Abby's outburst. "That's what you said I was when we were at home."

Abby's nurse gives us a questioning look.

"I'm a doctor." I explain. "She's a nurse." I say, gesturing to Abby. 

"Oh! Do you work here? What department?" 

"The ER." Abby says. "But I worked in OB for years." 

"So you probably don't need the centimeter-an-hour speech, huh?" 

"No, I'm all too well aware." Abby says.

"Oh, come on, Ab. If you really dilate a centimeter an hour, we could have a baby before dinner."

"Oh, dinner!" That generates some excitement from Abby. 

"Four centimeters is far enough along for an epidural." The nurse reminds Abby.

"Yeah, I know. But … not yet. Just in case." 

"I don't think we're going home without a baby, Ab. This is it." 

"I know … but I'm okay for now." 

"You're sure?"

Abby nods. "I can always change my mind."

"Do you have any questions?" Asks the nurse. We shake our heads. "Okay, well Dr. Coburn will be by to check on you shortly. If you need anything at all … or if you decide you want that epidural, you know how to find me." With that, she heads out the door, leaving Abby and I alone for the moment. 

"How are you doing?" I ask Abby, taking her hand, leaning over to kiss her forehead.

"Aside from feeling like I'm going to split in two every time I have a contraction? Peachy." She doesn't sound peachy. She doesn't sound happy at all. Not that I can blame her. 

"Maybe you should think about the epidural. Or put that IV to good use."

"It's not that bad … yet." I give her a look and she looks right back. Oh, a staring contest. 

We both turn toward the knock on the door. Susan walks in and practically sprints across the room to hug Abby who seems a lot more cheerful all of the sudden.

"So it's labor day, huh?" Susan asks.

"Uh, no Memorial Day … but you're a day early, Sus." Abby quips.

"Very funny." 

"Hey, give me a break, I'm in labor here." 

"So this is really it, huh?" Susan asks. "Oh, I can't wait to see who's in here." She says, reaching over to rub Abby's belly. 

"Neither can I." Abby says. She sounds kind of wistful as her own hands caress her belly that will soon be no more. 

"How are you?" Susan asks.

"Pretty good." Abby says, sounding much happier than when she answered that same question for me a few minutes ago. 

"I brought you something." Susan tell us, tossing a bag to me.

"Oh Susan, you shouldn't have." I say, looking at the bag with the logo of a sporting goods store on it.

"It's for Abby." 

"You brought Abby a pair of sweat socks and some tennis balls? I don't really think this is the best time for her to work on her backhand." 

Susan sighs and shakes her head at me as she takes the bag out of my hand. "Men. They never listen, do they?"

"Apparently not." Abby agrees. I watch in fascination as Susan opens the package of tennis balls, pulls apart the socks, and then one by one, drops the tennis balls into one of the socks. 

"You said Abby was having back pain." She says that like it should explain everything. 

"I guess he was asleep that day." Abby says. 

"It's for her back. Like a massager. Get it? Next time she has a contraction, rub her back with that." 

"Oh!" Yeah, it's all coming back to me now. 

"Please tell me he hasn't been this clueless all day." Susan says to Abby. 

"No, he's been pretty good." Abby says, squeezing my hand affectionately. But then her grip becomes tighter as another contraction starts. 

"Here." Susan says, tossing the tennis ball sock across the bed to me. But of course Abby's holding tight to my right hand, and when I reach out to grab the flying sock with my left hand, I miss. And then suddenly the chair slips out from under me and I find myself flat on my back on the floor once again today, watching as the sock bounces off the far wall, then several times on the floor before the various tennis balls roll out and across the floor. Abby must have managed to pull her hand out of mine just in time as I fell over because she's still squarely on her gurney, thank God. 

"Abby? What's wrong?" I ask as I sit up on my knees, next to her bed. There are tears in her eyes and she's shaking. Oh, she's laughing at me. I thought she was supposed to be in pain. But here she is laughing through the contraction. And all it took was me falling over. But I'll willingly play the clown if that's what it takes to help Abby get through this. I hate watching her face contort with the pain as she suffers through the contractions. And by all accounts, it's just going to get worse. 

But at the moment, Abby is gripping Susan's hand and letting Susan lead her through some breathing exercises. Abby seems more receptive to Susan's instructions so I just drop down onto the floor and begin searching out the escaped tennis balls. 

I hear the door open just as I'm sticking my head under the reclining chair, trying to get the last of the fuzzy things. 

"Abby." I hear Dr. Coburn say. "Susan. Are you the birthing coach?" 

"No, Carter's around here somewhere." Susan explains. 

"He's just trying to find his balls." Well, Abby's suddenly in a good mood. Too bad it's at my expense. Oh well. I stand up behind the chair, shaking my head at a giggling Susan and Abby while I put the makeshift massager back together. 

"Well, let's take a look." Coburn is saying to Abby. 

"Oh, I should probably go." Susan offers. Abby just waves that away.

"As long as you can refrain from sticking your hand up there, you can stay."

"I think I can control myself … it wasn't that exciting the first time." Susan says. Say what? My mouth has probably dropped open because they are laughing at me again. 

"It was strictly professional." Abby tells me. "Sorry to dispel any fantasies you were harboring." I just give her a 'tsk-tsk' look and shake my finger at her.

"Okay, Abby. You're at about four." Coburn says, ignoring all the nonsense.

"Son of a bitch. How long am I gonna be four centimeters?" 

"Ab, it hasn't been that long since the nurse checked you."

"Yeah, but it's been three hours since you checked me." 

"Well, you were three, _maybe_ four then."

"What if I'm four centimeters forever? What if I'm stuck?"

"I think it's a little early to worry about that." Janet says. "We're just getting started here. And you do seem to be having good contractions so far." She says, studying the printout from the monitor. "But I would like to see these contractions be more consistent."

"Should I walk?" Abby asks.

"Yes. I think that would be a good idea. We'll see where you are in an hour. If you haven't made any progress, we'll give you some Pitocin to help you out."

"Thanks, Janet." Abby says as her doctor heads out the door. The nurse gets Abby unhooked from the monitors, and I help her into a robe. 

And then we're walking again. Susan tags along with us for a while and then decides to head down to the ER to give them a progress report. 

"Here we are again." I say. "Hard to imagine everything that's happened just overnight. This is just what we were doing twelve hours ago. Let's just hope we aren't still doing it twelve hours from now." I give her a wink. And she growls at me. Literally. I know that I can't even begin to imagine what she's going through … but I'm starting to get a little upset that she's polite and even cheerful to every colleague or acquaintance we pass, but I get growled at. I guess I should be glad that she's comfortable enough with me to be herself and show how she's really feeling. But I kinda wish she would put on that polite face with me too. At least once in a while. 

"John." 

She stops, leans against the rails along the wall. I've been carrying along Susan's sock and using it when necessary. It really does seem to help. With Abby leaning against the wall, I can rub the tennis balls along her back with a good deal of force which seems to be what provides her with the most relief. When the contraction passes, I take her hand and we resume our shuffle along the hall. When the next contraction hits, Abby stops me once again. But this time she wants to lean on me. She wraps her arms around my neck, hanging off my shoulders. Her head is buried in my chest and I can feel, as well as hear, her low moans. I don't even try to lead her through the breathing; she does just fine on her own and my 'help' only seems to piss her off. Instead, I wrap my arms around her, rubbing her back -- massaging her lower back with one hand, rubbing her upper back soothingly with the other. As much as I hate seeing her in this pain, there's a part of me that is enjoying having her literally lean on me. 

"I wanna go back to the room." She says. The past several contractions have come fairly close together and have seemed to be stronger and longer than before. It's starting to take more out of her. I slip my arm around her waist and start slowly leading her back to her room. Once we get back, I help her climb into the bed where she leans her head back and closes her eyes, looking relieved to be lying down.

"Geez, this is so much better than a barbeque." She says with her eyes still closed. But there's humor in her voice. I'm glad that she can manage to find some humor at a time like this. So maybe it is better that she mostly gives me her grumpy face, at least when she's joking with me, I know it's genuine. "Who's stupid idea was this anyway?" 

"I'm sorry." I say. I know she was joking, but still, I feel like it's my fault that she's going through this ordeal. 

"What?" She says, opening her eyes to look at me. I guess she recognized the serious tone of my voice.

"I'm sorry I did this to you."

"You didn't do this _to_ me. We did this together. And I wasn't forced into doing anything I didn't want to do." 

"Well, then I'm sorry you're the one stuck with all the pain."

"Believe me, I'll find a way that you can make it up to me." 

"Should I be scared?"

"Probably." We're chuckling together when the nurse returns to the room.

"Glad to see you're in good spirits." She says to Abby. 

"I won't be if you tell me I'm still four centimeters dilated." Abby says, surrendering to yet another internal check.

"Nope. I'd say you're a good five now." 

"Oh, hey. Halfway there." I tell Abby, rubbing her arm and giving her an encouraging smile. 

"Yeah. The easy half." Abby says. But she gives me a little smile. 

"Well, you're making good progress. It hasn't even been an hour since Dr. Coburn checked. So I guess that walk really helped." 

The nurse gets Abby hooked back up to the monitors. Abby reports that the contractions seem to be getting stronger and our nurse promises to send Janet in soon. And then she leaves, probably to give Dr. Coburn the report, and Abby and I find ourselves alone yet again. 

We work our way through another contraction where we both keep a close eye on the fetal monitor reading once again. Everything looks good. No signs of fetal distress so far. 

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"I wanted to ask you -- before I forget -- about the names."

"The names?" I ask. "You mean, the baby names?"

"No, Carter, our porn star names." 

"What?" 

"Of course, the baby names." 

"But I thought we'd decided. Are you having second thoughts?"

"No. I thought maybe you would be. You know, after your grandmother's death … I thought maybe it would change your mind. At least about the girl's name." 

"Like you would really agree to name our daughter Millicent." 

"Well, maybe. Maybe the middle name, anyway." 

"I thought about that. At first. But you know, one day when I was having lunch with Gamma, she asked if we'd come up with any names. And I know it was supposed to be a secret … but I told her anyway. And she very much approved of our choices. When I told her our girl's name … she said it was 'befitting of a Carter.' In other words, she really liked it. Somehow, it seems important not to change it now."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure. But our next daughter …" 

"You're under the impression that I'm going to do this again?" 

"Sure. Some day when you've forgotten all the discomfort. When you miss having a baby in the house. When I catch you in the midst of a chocolate high and take advantage of you when you aren't thinking clearly." 

"Well, that sounds about right." And then her smile turns to a grimace as the next contraction starts.

We spend the next hour waiting for Dr. Coburn to appear. Several of our friends from the ER stop in to wish us well, but Abby's less and less interested in having company. So I make sure to spread that word that we appreciate the support, but uh … don't call us, we'll call you. And I can't say I blame Abby for not wanting a party in her labor room. This labor business isn't always pretty. Although Abby is truly remarkable, handling this whole thing very well. She still insists that she doesn't want anything for the pain. And why should she need it when she can just break my hand with each contraction to take her mind off her own pain? In spite of the death grip on my hand each time, she still claims the contractions aren't unbearable … yet. 

When Dr. Coburn finally appears Abby seems relieved and nervous all at once, probably worrying over what the exam will show. She'd declined to have me check her, explaining that the exam in none too pleasant, and she already has to suffer through enough of them. But at least this time it's more good news. Abby's making progress. Her water has yet to break, but it's been a bulging bag ever since I checked her this morning. With the contractions stronger and more steady now, Janet decides it's time to break Abby's membranes. 

"Nice clear fluid." Coburn tells us. "Okay, Abby, hopefully this will get things moving. Let's see … it's two o'clock now … we might have a baby in time for you to enjoy a lovely hospital dinner tray."

"How's that for motivation?" I ask Abby.

"Great. Just what I needed to encourage me to shove a watermelon out of my body -- the promise of a cafeteria dinner." Ah, that's my Abby. 

"Actually," Janet says, "They provide a special meal to new parents. I hear it's better than the usual garbage they try to pass off as food. Okay, so, everything looks good here. You're moving along quite nicely for a first baby. A couple more hours of hard work, but I'm sure you know that the payout is worth it." She gives Abby's shoulder a squeeze as she makes her way out of the room. And then it's just us again.

"I hope you think it's worth it." I say to Abby. 

"It will be. Maybe I don't think so now, but I'm sure once I hold the baby --" She stops abruptly, sucking in deep breath. I try to help her through the breathing and this time she follows along with me staring intently at my face, watching my every move. Guess I was her focal point for that one. When the contraction ends, she lets out a shaky breath. There are beads of perspiration along her brow. 

"A bad one, huh?" 

"Mm-hmm." It's barely audible as she lays her head back against the pillow. I find a washcloth and wet it with cool water so that I can mop her brow. 

A few minutes later the next one arrives, and Abby groans and moans her way through it. Seems like a whole different ballgame now. She was certainly in pain before, but not like this. The good news is that with contractions stronger and more intense, Abby should dilate steadily and hopefully we'll get through it quickly. And the baby still seems to be doing well, showing good variations in the heart rate which is primarily in the 150s. 

"You sure you don't want any pain meds?" I ask Abby.

"Dammit, John! How many times are you going to ask me that? I've told you one thousand times, if I want it, I'll ask for it!" She rolls over on to her other side, facing away from me, wrapping her arms around her belly and sucking in air rapidly. 

"Slow breaths. Breathe. Breathe." I do some huffing and puffing, but this time she doesn't seem to want to follow along with me. And when I reach out to rub her back, she swats my arm away.

"Don't touch me!" She snaps. "In fact, don't plan on ever touching me again!" She bites off the words between moans. 

"How about the tennis balls?" I ask, proffering the massager. 

"Fuck the tennis balls!" She sits up far enough to rip the sock out of my hand and throw it across the room with as much force as she can muster in her current state. The damn tennis balls are rolling around the room again. 

Abby collapses back against the bed, trying to regain a normal breathing pattern. I collect all the escaped tennis balls and then decide that maybe I should provide some entertainment. 

"Hey, Ab, check this out." I say, juggling the balls in the air and then adding to the trick by walking around the room. Of course I can't tell if she's enjoying my trick as I'm looking at the balls up in the air rather than at Abby in bed. It's when I glance over at her that I trip on the edge of the bed and find myself lying across the foot of Abby's bed, the tennis balls flying in all directions, one bouncing of the wall behind Abby and then bouncing off her head. 

"Ouch!" She yells. "Just what I needed … more pain."

"Oops." I say, looking up at her hopefully. "Maybe it's best to use flat tennis balls for a massager." 

"Maybe it's best to use your brain once in a while. What is wrong with you?" She asks, kicking at me from under the sheet. Guess she's not willing to share her bed. And I guess the clown routine has lost it's charm.

"Sorry." I say, sheepishly , retreating to the reclining chair. We sit in a stony silence until the door opens and Susan appears. 

"Hey, guys. How's it going? I brought you some ice chips, Abby." Why didn't I think of that? 

Abby gratefully accepts the ice chips from Susan, who perches at the end of Abby's bed, the very spot I just got kicked out of.

"Is it starting to get rough? You look more …"

"Haggard?" Abby suggests.

"No."

"Frightening?"

"No."

"Hideously repulsive?" Abby asks. I would toss out 'bitchy' but I don't think that would win me any points. 

"I was going to say 'disheveled.'" 

"Were you really, now?"

"Yes."

"Disheveled? Who says that? Although it would make a good Scrabble word." What's going on here? A minute ago Abby was all over me, filled with pain-induced hate. Now she's happily trading board game secrets with Susan? I get up and walk out of the room. Make it obvious that I'm checking the room number and then come back in. 

"What are you doing?" Abby asks me.

"Just checking to make sure I had the right room. I thought maybe I passed out for a minute there and my wife was replaced by someone who _doesn't_ hate the world right now."

"I don't hate the world."

"Oh, right. Just me." 

"John … I'm sorry." She turns to Susan. "Coburn came in and broke my water and now I'm in the seventh circle of hell. I think I've been taking it out on John." 

"Well, it is his fault." Susan says. And then, seeing the look on my face, "Aww, poor Carter." 

"Thank you." I say.

"Yeah," Susan continues. "Too bad about how you have to put up with some moodiness when all Abby has to do is suffer through excruciating contractions every five minutes."

"Four minutes." Abby says tightly, flapping her hands as the pain starts up again. Susan grabs one hand and I hurry over to Abby's bedside and grab the other. It's Susan who reaches out and starts rubbing Abby's belly. I figure Abby won't like it, but when Susan asks her if it helps, she nods. Did I sleep through every childbirth class or does Susan just have a knack for this kind of thing? 

"What can we do to help?" Susan asks when the contraction passes.

"Give me a c-section?" Abby suggests. "Okay, seriously, help me up."

"You have to pee?" I ask.

"Oh, that's a good idea, too. But I just don't want to lie here anymore."

"Hey, did you try the birthing ball yet?" Susan asks.

"The what?" I ask. 

"You know, it's a big round ball and the mother sits on it. It's supposed to help make the mom more comfortable. And you get a hand from gravity, too. It helps the baby move down in the pelvis and get into the right position. Anyway, I'll go find your nurse." Susan offers. They return with a big yellow ball that must be two feet in diameter just as Abby and I are coming out the bathroom where we had an argument about whether or not I needed to stay with her. When I mentioned the 'b' word -- bedpan, that is -- she shut up and peed. With me standing right by her side.

And now we all help her to get settled on this giant bouncy ball. She sits with her arms resting on the bed, helping her keep her balance, and giving her a place to rest during the contractions. She seems to be really digging this thing. She can bounce and roll around on it and that seems to provide some measure of relief, even when the contractions come. She lays her head down on the bed and moves her hips on the ball. I don't know if it really helps the pain or is just a good distraction, but it kinda looks like fun. Maybe we should get one for at home. Twisted as it may be, if I didn't know that Abby was in so much pain, it would be easy to get turned on watching her rhythmic movements, listening to the sighs and moans of pain that sound a lot like her sighs and moans of pleasure. However, the vice grip that she has on my hand is a constant reminder of the ordeal Abby is going through.

Eventually Abby tires of her fun ball and is ready to try something else. She seems to feel better when she is more upright so she opts for the rocking chair. Which turns out to be a good idea, as the rocking seems to be soothing. I guess the same way any sort of repetitive moment will sooth a fussy baby, it's the same for Abby. I start out kneeling in front of her, holding her hands, but eventually it becomes uncomfortable. So I balance myself on the giant ball. Which I find out is pretty fun. Probably even more so when you're not having contractions. In between the contractions, Abby's taken to sitting quietly, usually with her eyes closed. She's not really interested in talking anymore. So I find other ways to amuse myself. Specifically by trying to balance on the big yellow ball with my feet off the ground, without holding onto anything else. 

"Whoa, whoa." I say as I start to tip over. I grab the rocking chair and manage to right myself at the last second. 

"Jesus!" Abby yells. She opens her eyes to glare at me. Guess I interrupted her rocking rhythm. Susan's rolling her eyes at me from her place on the end of the bed. I switch positions on the bouncy ball, trying out balancing on my stomach. And then suddenly the ball disappears out from under me and I find myself flat on the floor.

"Hey!" I exclaim, looking up at Abby. Susan's laughing at me. She stops long enough to make sure I'm okay and then starts giggling. 

"Sorry, Carter. But that was pretty funny. And you kinda deserved it." 

"What did I do?" I ask.

Abby sighs a long-suffering sigh and opens her eyes slowly. "You. Are. Driving. Me. CRAZY!" 

"What?"

"You can't sit still. You're jumping around like a hyperactive six-year-old all the time. I'm trying to have a damn baby here, and you seem to be working on your audition for Ringling Brothers. I can't take it anymore!"

"Sorry." I say, genuinely contrite. I pick up her hand, but she yanks it away.

"Can you just go away?"

"What? Abby …" She's not really asking me to leave is she? A lump forms in my throat at the thought. 

"Uh … Carter … you know, you look hungry." Susan says.

"What?"

"Why don't you go get something to eat? Maybe swing by the ER -- I'm sure everyone would love an update. And didn't you say your families were coming? You could have quite a cheering section out in the waiting room. And I think that Abby needs some … quiet time. I'll be with her. And we'll page you if anything happens." 

"Well … I don't know." I hate the idea of leaving her. And I certainly don't want to miss anything. 

"Come on, Dad. Part of the father's job is public relations. You don't have to go for long, but I really do think you should go." 

I reluctantly say good-bye to Abby who grunts back to me and then head out into the hall. I make my rounds and find myself back in the labor room twenty minutes after I left. Susan's helping Abby up out of the rocking chair, so I hastily put the cup containing the remains of my milkshake on the bedside table and hurry over to Abby's side. 

"Hi." She says to me once she's settled in bed. And she actually smiles at me. I lean down and kiss her forehead. 

"I promise I'll sit still this time." That gets me another smile. Before Abby cries out as the next contractions hits. Just after it ends, the nurse shows up and replaces the monitors on Abby's belly. We all take a moment to stop and watch the fetal heart rate which still is going strong. 

"Oh, look." I say, pointing at the screen showing the readouts from the monitors. "You're getting another contraction already. They're getting really close together."

"No really. Ya think? Good call, Sherlock." Uh-oh, she sounds pissed at me again. Okay, sit still and shut up. That's the best advice I can give myself.

Susan and I help Abby through the contraction and then as we are talking about my progress report to the ER and waiting room, I glance over at Abby. And find her with what's left of my milkshake in her hand. 

"Abby! What are you doing? You can't drink that!" 

"I just had a sip!"

"You can't have that!" 

"Well, then why did you sit right here next to me, _tempting me_ when I'm starving?"

"Give it to me." I tell her.

"Oh, I'll give it to you, _asshole_!" 

And before I know what hits me … it hits me. The milkshake that is. Square in the head. I can't believe she threw it at me. I can't believe she hit me. And now I have chocolate milkshake dripping down my face. Susan decides it's time to retreat and goes out to join the others in the waiting room. Traitor. I find a towel and clean myself up. And then look over at Abby. At first I think Abby's laughing again. But then I realize that she's crying. 

I go over and sit next to her on the bed and wrap my arms around her. 

"It's okay, Abby." 

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"I can't do this."

"Yes you can. You're doing it."

"But I don't want to do it anymore. I'm tired. I wanna go home. Please, take me home." 

"Sure." I tell her, stroking her hair. "Just as soon as you have the baby."

"I don't wanna have a baby anymore. It's a bad idea. Let's just go." 

"Abby …" I know that she knows she's not making any sense. But I also know that she needs to say it right now. She's miserable and if begging for help makes her feel better, I'm not going to stop her. 

"It just hurts so much." She says through her tears.

"I know." I say. Although really I don't. And never will. I can't imagine any pain I've felt in my life is quite like this.

Abby holds me tighter as a new contraction sweeps over her. We breathe through it with her crying out in pain several times. And even after it's over, she's still a mess of tears. 

"I want drugs." She says. 

"What?" I ask, not knowing if she's serious. 

"I want drugs. I just need something. It hurts so much. And it's gonna get worse before it gets better." 

"You're sure?" I don't want to make her feel like she shouldn't get something for the pain, but I also want to know that this is what she really wants. I don't want her looking back with regret later. But then she was never especially committed to a natural childbirth, preferring instead to take a 'wait and see' approach.   


"I'm sure." She says it calmly and rationally. I think it's her calmness that convinces me she really does know what she wants. 

"Okay. Let me go get the nurse." She nods in agreement.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Is my mom out there?"

"Oh that's right, I forgot to tell you. Your mom's here. Eric's here. My parents. Half the ER. Everyone's here." 

"Can you get her?"

"Maggie?" 

"Yeah."

"And bring her in here?" Just making sure.

"Yeah." 

"Sure." 

I head out and find the nurse so she can get approval to give Abby the Demerol IV. And then I venture into the waiting room and through the sea of family and friends. I send Susan back first and then continue to wade through the crowd.

"No, no baby yet." I tell them. "But we're working on it. We're getting close." 

I walk over toward Maggie and find her knitting something. A yellow and white something, so I'm guessing it's for her soon-to-be-born grandbaby. 

"John." She says when I stop next to where she sitting. "How's Abby doing?" 

"She's hanging in there. And … she's asking for you."

"Me?" Maggie sounds surprised.

"Yep. She asked me to come out and get you. If you're … comfortable being in there with her." 

"Well, yes. Absolutely." She starts packing up her knitting into a big bag that she had sitting next to her. 

"Hey John," Eric says. "Tell Abby to go get 'em." I'm not exactly sure what that means, but I agree to pass on the message along with everyone else's good wishes.

As soon as we walk into the room, Maggie drops her bag and rushes to Abby's side. 

"Mommy." Abby calls, reaching her arms out to Maggie. Mommy? Maggie wraps her arms around Abby and rocks back and forth, shushing her and whispering words of comfort. "Mommy." Abby says again, holding on to Maggie for dear life. And with that one word, I know Abby's tough façade has crumbled completely. She's no longer trying to put up a brave front with forced cheerfulness or humorous sarcasm or even stubborn anger. She's all fragile vulnerability now. 

It's kinda scary. And something tells me it's not gonna completely go away, even after the baby's born, even after she's no longer in pain. After all, once the baby is here, she'll be a mother. And I know how much that means to her. But now, I also understand what it's going to do her. She'll love this baby so much, that it is going to cause a huge weak spot in Abby's carefully crafted armor. I know how hard it was for her to let me in. And now, with our baby, she's making herself that much more vulnerable. And I think I finally understand just how brave she really is. 

I move over next to Abby's bed, and lean down to kiss her temple. "I love you." I whisper with perhaps more awe and admiration than I've ever felt for her before. She turns away from Maggie and looks at me. Lays her hand along my cheek. Yeah, she loves me too. I take her hand and sit down in the chair next to her bed. Susan is across the room, looking on happily. Moved by the whole scene. I can tell that everyone in the room will be crying before the day is out. 

Meanwhile, Maggie has her arms wrapped around Abby, smoothing back her hair. 

"This hurts so much, Mom. How did you get through it twice?" Abby looks up at Maggie from her mother's embrace. 

"Oh sweetie, once that baby comes out, you forget about the pain. It just doesn't matter any more."

"I don't know if I can do this." Abby says tearfully. 

"Every woman feels that way. But you can do it. And look how well you're doing so far. You're doing great, Abby." 

"I don't know about that. I've been horrible to Carter. And now I'm crying like a baby -- begging for my mommy to help me."

"Well, that's what moms are for. Or so I hear." That gets a little smile from Abby. 

"And now I'm getting drugs." Abby says, gesturing to the IV.

"Well, there's nothing wrong with that." Maggie says. "No reason to suffer through pain if you don't have to. So if it helps, why not?" 

Why not, indeed? It turns out to be a very good thing as far as I'm concerned. Whether it's the IV or Maggie's presence, something certainly seems to have had a calming effect on Abby. Funny to think that Maggie could ever be a source of tranquility to Abby, but maybe at a time like this, a mother's presence is just what is needed. And I guess, no matter what the problems in the relationship, and no matter how old we get, when we're scared and hurting, we all want that unconditional comfort that our mothers are supposed to provide. Or maybe, in this case, Abby is just reassured by having someone in the room who has gone through this and lived to tell about it. 

But whatever the reason, Abby seems happier and more serene. More like she was earlier in the labor. She's much more relaxed, which seems to me would be good for moving things along. She's still in a lot of pain during the contractions, but she seems to manage that pain better. And in between the contractions that are steadily moving closer and closer together, she seems relatively comfortable and pretty pleasant. Remarkable what pain meds can do for a person. Which is, of course, something I know all about. But that's not something that I want to think about today. And I don't have time to waste on those kind of ruminations anyway. Abby's contractions are getting longer and closer together all the time. And in spite of the happy juice in her IV, she's starting to lose that calm demeanor.

"Where the hell is my nurse?" Abby's screeching in the short break in between her contractions. 

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Pressure." Abby says. "Lots of pressure." 

"The baby?" I ask. 

"Well, I hope so. If not, I must have to take one hell of a shit." 

"Abby!" I exclaim.

"What?" She asks. Okay, I'm not gonna start with her now.

"Want me to check you?" I ask.

"I want you to go find my nurse. Or better yet, find Coburn."

I manage to find the nurse, but Dr. Coburn isn't exactly hanging around outside the door. But as soon as the nurse examines Abby, she agrees that it's time to call Janet. Abby's never looked so relieved in her life as she did when the nurse proclaimed her to be completely dilated. And Abby wasn't imaging that pressure -- the baby's down pretty low. 

"Okay," Our perpetually cheerful nurse says, "It's time to have a pushing party."

"Some party." Abby says. 

And while it may not be a party, it will be rite of passage. We're about to start the next phase of our lives. We'll be parents. We're about to see our baby. Wow. Here we go.


	12. A Whole New World

__

Title: This Thing About Birthdays

Author: Andrea

Rating: Still R

Summary: She's having a baby. Still. But the little fucker will fall out in this chapter, I promise.

Author's Note: So, yeah, this chapter has been done for days, but due to the pitiful review situation, I've been withholding it. Also, there was an editing snafu. But even if there hadn't been … if you want more of these chapters that take days and days to write, taking the two minutes to review would be highly appreciated. And for those of you who are wondering, ADL and FAWH are going to be continued. Some time soon. Probably. Thanks to Courtney and Kelly for reading and advising. And for laughing and crying and telling me about it. Thanks to my flock of steady reviewers. I would name names, but I'd be sure to leave someone out, so I'll just stick with thanks to all of you. That means you, too, Lanie. Enjoy this one. With any luck, you'll laugh, you'll cry … or maybe not. And no, this isn't the last chapter. This isn't even the last chapter of part ii. But if you want the next one soon, you know what to do. 

This Thing About Birthdays

Part II

Chapter 12: _A Whole New World_

"Okay, Abby," My unnecessarily cheerful nurse says, "Whenever you're ready, you can start pushing." 

Whenever I'm ready? Well, how about next week? If I could go home and sleep, maybe eat, just relax for a while, I'd be glad to come back later. 

"Why don't we give it a try with the next contraction?" Miss Perpetually Perky asks. What happened to whenever I'm ready?

"No, no, no." I say, shaking my head against the pillow. But no one seems to be paying any attention to me. And why should they? I'm just the one _giving birth_. But they seem to have forgotten my part in all this. Carter is so excited he's practically bouncing out of his sneakers. Susan seems to be on the verge of tears while she rubs her hands together in gleeful anticipation. Nurse Perky looks excited too. And, I guess, why shouldn't they? There isn't a basketball trying to get out of any of them.

"I'm not ready. I'm not ready." I tell them.

"You don't have much choice, Abby." John says. "You have to do it sooner or later. Come on, don't you want to see the baby?" Gee, thanks for the understanding. Screw you, Carter. 

"Mom?" In a very weird turn of events, I find myself turning more and more to Maggie for reassurance. After all, she's been through this. And she seems to be the most sympathetic to my needs at the moment. Normally, it's Carter that brings me comfort just by his very presence. But right now, he's so excited about the baby that sometimes I think he forgets what I'm going through. Of course, I want to see the baby; of course, I'm excited to meet this little person. But I'm the one doing all the work here. I'm the one in all the pain. I know he's trying to be encouraging, but sometimes it just feels pushy. 

"It's okay, Abby. Take your time." Mom says. "There'll always be another contraction. But … the sooner you start, the sooner you can get this over with." She has point there. 

"I'm scared." I whisper. Maggie wraps her arms around my head and pulls me close to her so she can kiss the top of my head. 

"Of course you are. But you have to do it anyway." 

"Abby?" John picks up my hand. "You're gonna be okay. I promise. I won't let anything happen to you."

I lay back and close my eyes, trying to gain some … strength? Courage? Maybe get in touch with the insane side of myself that wanted to do this in the first place? I'm not intending to push with the next contraction, but when the pain starts, this time accompanied by a shitload of pressure, I change my mind. My body is telling me that it's time to push. Time to get this baby out.

"I wanna push." I say. Several sets of hands eagerly help me to get into a position with better leverage and the nurse gives me the instructions I don't need. 

"Chin to your chest. Push from your bottom." 

So I put my chin to my chest and push. And nothing much happens. But then again it was a half-assed effort. Even I know that. I need to push out this elephant inside of me, and I'm pushing like I need to fart. Kinda like trying to shovel six feet of snow with a teaspoon.

"Abby. You can do better than that." Carter tells me. 

"You wanna get up here and try it? When was the last time you crapped out a bowling ball?" 

"Why don't you just try again?" He asks. 

I nod, but lay back, deciding to wait for the next contraction. I don't have long to wait. Okay, let's do this right. I take a deep breath and put my chin back down on my chest and push. Really push. Everyone starts counting. As slow as humanly possible, I think. As soon as they get to ten, I blow out the breath. 

"Again." The nurse says. What? Is she nuts? But I know the drill, so I gulp down another breath of air and push like I mean it. Like I'm actually trying to get something out of me. "Good Abby. That's good. Keep going." Keep going? Yeah, I no longer need to breathe. And don't worry about the pain. Oh. Ouch. Ouch. OUCH. Owww … what the fuck? This can't be right. 

"AAAAHHH!!" I didn't mean to scream, but it just kind of happens when a Buick is trying to pass its way through a very small hole in your body.

"Oh God …" I moan, collapsing against the bed. "What the hell is going on? Is this kid wearing a football helmet?"

Carter chuckles and then immediately apologizes. "Sorry." He says.

"You should be. This thing inside of me obviously has your big, fat head." He laughs again. "I'm serious. It's huge. It's too big. I'll never get it out."

"Of course you will." Susan says. "You really moved it down with that push. You're gonna do just fine."

"Oh, crap. Here comes another one." I say, ending the debate as it's time to try and squeeze this thing out again. More pushing. More pain. Lots of pressure. _Lots _of pressure. Lots of stretching. In places that I was never especially anxious to stretch. Of course, I know that women's bodies are designed to stretch like this, and we are made to give birth … but still … the whole thing is starting to seem ridiculous to me. I know all too well how big a newborn's head is. And I know how big my vagina is. And the two just aren't matching up somehow. I don't care how compressed the baby's head is. I don't care how much my body can stretch. It's insane. I moan and grunt my way through this push and then collapse back against the pillows. It's an impossibility. All this pressure. The pain. And the head is gigantic. I can't imagine it's going fit. I'm pushing as hard as I can and nothing's happening.

"It hurts. It really, really hurts. It's too big. It's not gonna fit."

"Of course it is, Abby." John tells me. "When you're pushing, the baby moves down really far. If it wasn't gonna fit, the baby never would have moved down this far."

"What if it gets stuck?"

"It's not gonna get stuck, Ab." Carter says.

"It could. These things happen all the time. A baby that's too big for the pelvis … shoulder dystocia. I'm not that big, you know. What if it doesn't fit?"

"Ab …" Carter starts.

"What makes you think the baby is too big?" Maggie asks.

"Because it feels like it's huge!" 

"I'll bet everybody feels that way, Abby." Carter says. 

"I know I did." Maggie tells me. "You felt like a freight train. I thought for sure you would weigh twelve pounds."

"This one must weigh fifteen." I don't think they believe me. They also seem unconcerned about the fact that every time I try to push out this baby, I feel like I'm tearing myself in half. Nope, no need to worry about that. Nevertheless, I keep working on this pushing thing and they all seem impressed with my progress. I feel like I'm not getting anywhere -- after all, the baby is still lodged in there -- but they assure me that the baby is moving right along. 

Just about the time Coburn comes strolling in, I crap out. I've had enough. I hurt everywhere. I'm nauseous …or maybe hungry. I'm hot. I'm sweaty. I'm thirsty. And I'm so tired. 

"Abby," Dr. Coburn says, "I hear you're doing well with the pushing." If they say so … it feels like a whole lot of wasted effort to me. 

"I don't know." I tell her. 

"Well, why don't you show me what you can do with the next contraction?"

"I don't think I can do this anymore right now." 

"Abby. Of course you can. Now how many mothers said the same thing to you when you were on the other side of gurney? Most of them, am I right? And you didn't listen. You told them to stick with it. Now it's your turn to be strong." 

"I don't think I can." To my horror, my chin is quivering and I feel tears gathering in my eyes. 

"Hey, Abby." Susan says. "Stop your whining and suck it up."

"It _hurts_! When was the last time you had a baby?"

"Well, I'll bet I could do a better job than you." 

"Blow it out your ass, Susan!" Who the hell invited her anyway? 

"No, that's your job, dummy. Come on, Abby … what's it gonna take to light a fire under you?" Oh, now I get what she was doing. It pissed me off, but it didn't exactly inspire me to shove this baby out. 

"I just … I …" 

"Abby." My mom. "Look at me." She puts her hand under my chin and turns my face toward hers. "Listen, sweetie, I know you're tired. And I know you're hurting. But the only way to make it go away is to get the baby out. And _you_ have to do it. And you can. You can do anything. You're so strong."

"But, Mom …"

"Well, if you won't do it for yourself, do it for your baby. The baby wants to come out Abby. It's ready to be born. But it needs your help. You have to do it for the baby. You know it's better if you do it on your own … you don't want them helping you out with their … instruments, do you?" Forceps. The vacuum. Not on my baby's head. The baby. With all this pain and … 'discomfort,' I almost forgot that there's a light at the end of this tunnel. A reward. A big reward. A baby. My baby. And Maggie's right. It's not any easier on the baby than it is on me. Okay. Have to do this for the baby.

"Okay." I say. I can feel the contraction starting so I get into position, pulling my knees back and curling myself around my swollen belly. Chin to my chest, I bear down and push with all that I have. I'm grunting and growling with the effort, but no more screaming. I'm trying my best to save all that energy for the pushing.

"Okay, Abby. Stop." Janet says. 

"Oh my God, Abby." John says. "That's amazing. The head is right there. Look. I can see our baby's head. And it has red hair!" Well, stop the presses. 

"That's nice." I say as I'm panting and gasping for breath. But he could have told me the baby had blue hair, and I don't think I really would have cared right now. 

"That was good, Abby. Really, good. But don't push now. Just breathe." Dr. Coburn instructs.

Oh sure, now she wants me to stop. Does she know what this feels like? The pressure is incredible. I feel like I'm about to explode. And she wants me to just hold this thing between my legs, this enormous thing, in there? I want it out. I want to push. I _need_ to push. I lay back and try to concentrate on my breathing -- panting -- while they are all making their preparations. Why didn't they get ready before? What did they think I was doing here? Didn't they know that a baby was trying to get out of me?

"Carter? You catching?" Coburn asks. He looks at me. Asking me. I nod. He leans over and kisses my forehead, tells me that he loves me and that I'm beautiful, before literally placing my hand in Susan's. Turning over the reins, I guess. Yes, I want him to be the one to guide our baby into the world. But I also want him to hurry up. I can't hold on much longer.

"You're doing so good, honey." Mom says. "Almost there." 

"Abby." John calls from the end of the bed, all gowned up and ready, Dr. Coburn standing by his side. "Look. Look in the mirror." So I look in the mirror that's positioned behind him. 

"Oh, God." The tears spring to my eyes when I realize he wasn't kidding. The baby really is _right there._ Crowning indeed. 

"Reach down here." He says. I free my hand from Susan, and reach out for John's. Together we touch our child for the first time. A slimy little red-haired head. It takes my breath away.

"Oh." My voice breaks on that one syllable. 

"That's our baby." There are tears in his voice too. "You ready to meet her?" I can only nod. "Okay, another good push, just like the last one, and she'll be here." She? He's still sure it's a girl, I guess. We'll find out soon. 

I take a deep breath and with my mother and my best friend supporting me, holding me up, holding me together, I push. It hurts. It burns. I feel like I'm being stretched beyond my limits and tearing to shreds. But I keep pushing. Susan and Maggie counting in my ears.

"Good, Abby. Good. Head's halfway out. A little more … okay, stop." Dr. Carter is in the room now. I open my eyes and look in the mirror, then down between my legs, getting a first look at my baby's face. Oh. Oh my God. It's beautiful. Clearly, this is the most beautiful child ever. 

"Oh my God, I'm having a baby." I gasp out. John looks up at me with tears in his eyes after having suctioned out the baby's mouth and nose.

"Trying to cry already." Coburn comments, watching over Carter's shoulder. For the first time, I hear the sound of my child. Wow. 

"Give me a little push." I push and the shoulders come out. John holds the baby right there, not pulling it all the way out just yet. "Give me your hands, Abby." John tells me. I reach down. And as soon as the baby is halfway out, I slip my hands under my child's arms, pulling and pushing at the same time to help my child to be born.

And then suddenly, the baby is born. It's finally here. Outside of my body. My hands and John's hands wrapped around this tiny little person. We lift the baby on to my bare, suddenly-empty stomach, and for the first time I feel the weight of my child in my arms. My baby is born. I feel its warm skin against mine, I hear it crying over the ordeal its just been through. I'm already crying uncontrollably myself, but for once, I don't want to stop. Through my tears, I sigh in relief. For myself. For the baby. It's official. I'm a mommy. Oh my God.

"4:57." I hear Dr. Coburn say. Time of birth. Yep, got a baby in plenty of time for dinner.

The nurse has put blankets over the baby and is vigorously rubbing its back, encouraging the crying that will get the lungs working up to their potential, and also helping to dry the baby off. She puts a stretchy little cap on the baby's head, covering up that red hair, and keeping the baby warm. On either side of me, my mom and Susan are crying. I look down and John is relinquishing his spot to Dr. Coburn. And he's crying, too, of course. 

"We have a baby." I say to him. Incredible. Is this thing squirming around on my belly really mine? 

"Yeah. A baby." He says it with the same breathless, awestruck, tearful voice that I'm using. He grins at me. And then asks, "What do we have, Abby?" Oh yeah, I guess we forgot to look. I peek under the blankets and lift one of the baby's legs to see who's there. 

"It's a girl." I say, sobbing harder. I don't know why. I would have been just as happy with a boy. But a girl. A daughter. I'm the mother of a little girl. Wow. There just aren't any words. I hold the baby against me with one arm, and stroke her little cheek with my other hand. She's beautiful. Absolutely the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And worth it. So worth it. My baby girl. 

"A girl." Carter says, sounding about as bewildered as I feel. "It's a girl!" He exclaims happily. "We have a little girl. See? I told you." He leans over and kisses me lightly on the lips. "I love you." He leans down and kisses the baby. "And I love you too, little girl." He looks back at me and sniffles, making me cry even harder. Damn hormones never quit. 

"Are you ready to cut the cord?" Dr. Coburn asks. There's some shifting of the baby, turning her over onto her back. And then Janet affixes the clamps to the baby's umbilical cord. "We're doing cord blood, right?" She asks. Cord blood, storing the stem cells from the blood that is left in the umbilical cord. It can be used later if, God forbid, the baby should fall sick. Her own cells would be used to fight against disease. With Carter's family history of leukemia and my family history of who-knows-what, it seemed like a wise decision. 

"Yeah." John tells Coburn, who begins making the necessary preparation to collect the cord blood. And then John is there with the scissors in his hand. He leans over me, places one hand under the baby's back and then carefully cuts through the umbilical cord. And just like that, we're free. Two separate people now, our physical attachment severed in an instant. I can only hope that our other bonds won't break so easily. 

"I'm gonna take her and weigh her and get her cleaned up, okay?" The nurse asks, lifting the baby off of me. Oh, bring her back. I want her back. God, how many times did I plunk someone else's baby into the air and run off with it, delighting in the thrill of a newborn in my arms, anxious to go through the rituals. Too many times to count. And I never once thought about how hard it might be for the mom to watch some virtual stranger cart her newly-born infant halfway across the room. "I'll be right back with her." She assures me. I nod, and rest my head back against the pillow. John goes with the baby, slipping his finger in her tiny little fist. 

The next few minutes are a flurry of activity. Dr. Coburn is busy tending to the rest of the processes in this whole giving birth thing. The afterbirth slides out and the cord blood collection gets started by some new person who has appeared in the room. Janet pokes around for awhile and finds two 'tiny' tears that she needs to stitch up, allowing me the pleasure of a needle stick to numb me up. But to be honest, I probably feel it a lot less than I normally would. After all, I've got plenty of distractions. My mom is hugging me, congratulating me, telling me what a good job I did. Susan is snapping pictures. I'm not sure exactly what point she started taking those pictures, and I'm a little worried about what she might have caught on film or with the video camera that's floating around somewhere. But I'll have to worry about that later. Right now, we're all crying, the baby included. The room is pretty much in chaos. Organized chaos, but still chaos nonetheless. But at the moment, it's all only half noticed by me. 

Because there's only one thing I can truly concentrate on. I only have eyes for one person now. My little girl. Just a few feet away on the baby warmer, getting her footprints done, leaving her footprints on her daddy's t-shirt, right over his heart. And then the nurse picks her up and plops her on the scale.

"I'm telling you," I say, "she's heavy." Boy, is she. Not even having held her properly in my arms, I know she's no petite little thing. That seven pound estimate (which, I was warned, could be off by a pound either way) from my check up less than a week ago, was clearly wrong. 

"21 inches long," our nurse says. Oh, maybe she's gonna get her height from her father. "And the weight is … 8 lbs, 12 oz." The nurse tells us. Well, that explains a lot.

"What?" Carter says. "That can't be right."

"See for yourself." She says, stepping away from the scale so we can see the readout.

"No, it's gotta be wrong. Maybe it's calibrated wrong." Carter insists. The nurse lifts the baby off the scale, waiting until the digital display shows zero, then she puts the baby back on. Still 8 lbs, 12 oz. 

"But … but. … but that's a huge baby to come out of my little Abby." Carter says. 

"See?" I call across the room. "I told you. I told you just now that she was heavy. I told you all along that she was huge. But you all thought I was crazy."

"Oh, Abby," Mom says. "I'm so proud of you. You did so good. Especially considering that you gave birth to a moose. You only weighed six-something. Your brother wasn't much more. I don't know what you're doing having such a big baby."

"It was probably all that cheesecake." Susan says. "I'll remind you of that next time. No cheesecake."

I almost say that there won't be a next time, but then I look back over at the baby, being cleaned off and diapered. She gets a long sleeved t-shirt and new stretchy cap for her head now that she's all cleaned up. He little arm is waving around in the air, as if she's waving at me. Of course I know she isn't, but I wave back anyway. That's my baby over there. My daughter. Incredible. And I know in an instant that I would go through all this again, in a heartbeat, for her. Or someday, for another one just like her. Right now, I just want to hold the one that I have. I have a baby. And she's right over there. Unbelievable.

"You wanna go see, Mommy?" John coos at the baby, after he gets her all swaddled up in warm, dry blankets. He must be reading my mind. Or maybe it's the way I'm staring intently at the little bundle in his arms. 

He walks carefully across the room with her and then places her gently in my arms. She's crying, but then, so am I. So is her daddy. As soon as I have her cradled in my arms, I cuddle her close to me, rocking her slightly. "Oh. Hi, sweetie. Shh … shh … it's okay, pumpkin. Mommy's here." She quiets down, stops crying and then looks up at me. 

Oh God, she's so beautiful, I can't stand it. A round little face with chubby apple cheeks. Puffy, pouty little lips and a button nose. Big eyes. Blue at the moment, but a dark gray-blue that's bound to change to brown. I peek under her little cap. Huh. Sure enough, a head full of softly-curling, dark red hair. Sort of a brownish-red that will likely get darker. So it probably won't last, but it sure is something right now.

"Hi, Baby. I'm your mommy. I'm the one you've been kicking all this time. Yeah, that's me. Mommy." She's staring at me with bright, alert eyes. She can't focus yet, but it's nice to see her so seemingly aware. I smile down at her through the tears, sniffling as coo at my baby, "Mommy loves you. Yeah. I've been waiting a long time for you. Yes, I have. And I love you so much." I knew I would love her, but I didn't know it would feel like this. I'm crying even harder as I lean down and kiss her little face for the first time. Her response to is to open and close her mouth a few times and blink her little eyes at me. I cuddle her a little closer. She scrunches up her face and starts crying again. 

"What? What's wrong?" She answers that question by turning her head toward my breast and rooting and nuzzling against it. How does she know? Amazing. I've held so many newborns … but until I held my own, I didn't appreciate just how extraordinary they are. She's a miracle. 

"I think she's hungry." Her daddy says, looking on. 

Yeah, I was getting that idea myself. Well, maybe not _hungry_ exactly, but I would say that the instinct to suck has definitely kicked in. Oh. Okay, I know how to do this. I loosen the baby slightly from her tight wrappings before I slip my arm out of the gown. A gown that I might as well just take off at this point, now that just about everything is hanging out anyway. Then I move the baby into the proper position, supporting her weight with one of my arms resting under her. The hand that isn't under her goes behind her head. I stroke her cheek lightly with my thumb, and when she opens her mouth wide, I quickly push her head toward my breast. And she's latched on. Just like that. She immediately starts sucking and I can hear, as well as see, her swallowing. Okay, this is … kinda weird. Not bad. Not painful. But different. My body is feeding my baby. Wow. And she knows just what to do. All of ten minutes old and she's already got the essential skill of babyhood down pat. She suckles contentedly while I marvel at the wonder of all this. I look down at the sweet little face taking nourishment at my breast, and I know … I'm in love. How can I love something this little so much so soon? Because she's mine. Because she's his. Because she's ours. And, I think, she's all I've ever really wanted. Well, her … and her daddy. My little family.

"Hey, sweetie. Were you hungry?" I say, looking down at the little one in my arms. "Yeah? Is that good? You know just what to do, don't you? Mommy's smart girl, huh? You're amazing. Yes, you are. And you're gorgeous, too, you know that?" I can't stop smiling. I can't stop crying. I can't stop talking baby-talk. 

"She looks like you." John says, standing at my side, peering over my shoulder. 

"Really? No." 

"Yes, she does." Maggie says, leaning over to get a close-up view of her granddaughter, at least in profile. "She looks just like you when you were born. Well, actually, she looks more like your brother because he had a head full of curls too." She says as she looks under the cap too, and then removes it, stroking the baby's hair. "But you and Eric looked a lot alike as babies. Of course, neither of you had this red hair. Where did that come from?" She leans over and kisses the baby's head before replacing the hat.

"The mailman." Carter says, without losing a beat. I swat at him with my free hand. "My mother," He corrects himself.

"Your mother has red hair?" I ask him.

"Sure. Sometimes. Remember Christmas?"

"I didn't know that was real." I say.

"Well, it's not now. But it was at one time. Not bright red … but dark red. Maybe … auburn? Kinda like this." He says, twirling an escaped lock of the baby's hair around his finger. Red hair runs in the family. Huh. Well maybe this stuff will stay then. We'll see.

"She really does look like you, Abby." Susan says. "Lucky for her." She gives Carter, who is now perched on the edge of my bed, a little nudge. 

"Haha, Sus." He says. But he's not distracted by her comments for long, preferring instead to gaze adoringly at this little creature in my arms. He reaches over and pats the little bundle, rests his hand on her head. She pays no attention, sticking doggedly to the task at hand.

"Does she have a name?" Maggie asks. 

"Yes." I say slowly, looking at John. "I think so." 

"She does. I haven't changed my mind. Unless … you have?" 

"No." Especially not now. If there was a time I wasn't sure, I'm sure now. 

"Well, what is it?" Susan demands, apparently unable to stand the suspense. 

I look at Carter. He smiles encouragingly. Then I look at the baby. Yeah, it fits. And then I look at my mom. 

"Margaret." I say.

"Margaret Abigail." Carter amends. The big fight over the middle name, the fight he finally won. 

"Margaret Abigail Carter. Meg." My daughter. 

I watch as it registers with Maggie. Her face turning from surprise to happiness, and then dissolving into quiet tears. 

"Yes," I say to the baby, "that's you. Meg. Meg Carter. What do you think, Meg? Do you like it? Do you want to go see your grandma? You are her namesake, after all." I slip a finger into the baby's -- Meg's-- mouth and break the suction. She lets my nipple loll out of her mouth and doesn't protest to being pulled away. 

I hand her to her grandmother, watching the two of them together. My mother and my daughter. The woman who made me. And the child that I made. The child who made me a mother. I'd been reluctant at first to bestow Maggie's name upon my child, but the more John and I talked about it, the more it seemed right. A symbol of a new beginning for all of us? An olive branch? My chance to reach out to my mother? I don't know. But it just seemed right. And now, even more so. Maggie provided the first mother-daughter relationship in my life. A complicated, hard, tumultuous relationship. And I hope, more than anything else, that Meg will provide the antithesis of that relationship. A second chance, for me, at this whole mother-daughter thing, this time from the other side. And I just want to get it right. 

All of which might make naming my daughter after my mother seem odd, to say the least. But maybe not. Maybe Meg's presence in our lives is going to be just what we need to get us back on the road to being a family. It seems to be happening already. Today, struggling to bring Meg into the world, I'd let myself lean on my mother more than I ever have before. So maybe this brand new little baby is already bringing us together. So having her share my mother's name seems appropriate somehow. Besides, Margaret means 'pearl' … and what is a pearl if not some rare treasure … some unexpected windfall? And that's my Meg. Plus, I like it. Meg. Meggie. Not too fancy. Not too popular. But not too off -the-wall either. 

"Meg." Susan says. "That's cute. I like it. It's not as catchy as 'Little Susan' maybe, but it's good." 

"Sorry, Sus. Maybe next time." 

"Yeah, sure. That's what they all say. But as long as I still get to be Aunt Susan, I'm happy." 

Aunt Susan looks like she's dying to get her hands on the baby, but Grandma doesn't seem too eager to give her up. Daddy looks like he'd like another turn. And it's been all of a minute since I turned her over, so I'm itching to take her back. I guess I should have had more than one. 

Dr. Coburn and my nurse finish tending to me -- for the time being. But I know all too well that they'll be back to poke and prod and push and pull at me soon. But for the moment I'm reasonably comfortable, sort of clean, and I've even got a fresh sheet covering me up. Because everyone in the room hasn't already seen everything I have to show. 

"Congratulations, Abby, John. She's beautiful." Dr. Coburn says. "I have another patient about to deliver, but I'll stop in to see you later." We give her our thanks and then she's gone. 

John leans back on the gurney, getting comfortable. He drapes his arm around my shoulders, and I lean back against him, resting my head against his shoulder and letting out a sigh. I look up at him, but his gaze is fixed on Meg in her grandmother's arms. Maggie has the baby over her shoulder, trying to burp her. And suddenly that baby that felt so big when she was trying to get out of me looks very small and very fragile. But when that tiny little bundle lets out a loud burp, the illusion of delicateness is sort of lost.

I look back up at John, who is still watching the baby. I lift my hand up to his cheek and turn his head towards me. For a long moment we just look into each other's eyes, smiling. 

"You did it, Abby." He says, bringing _his _hand up to _my _cheek. He leans in and kisses me. Just a short little kiss. But no sooner does he pull away then I lean forward and capture his lips again.

"No, we did it. All of us. I couldn't have done it, couldn't have gotten through it, without you. Thank you." He kisses me again.

"No, thank _you_." He says between kisses. 

"Okay, you two. That's enough." Aunt Susan scolds us. "You just had a baby, no need to get another one started right away."

"You know, Susan," I say, "sometimes I question your credentials."

"If you think kissing is where babies come from …" Carter picks up my thoughts. 

Susan just rolls her eyes at us. She turns to the baby, still on Maggie's shoulder. "What are we gonna do with your parents, huh Meg?" She strokes the baby's little head. We all seem to like to pet her. 

"You wanna hold her?" Maggie asks. 

"Yeah. I'd love to." Susan lifts the baby out of Maggie's arms and it's all I can do not to scream, 'her head, her head … watch her head!' But I know Susan knows her way around babies. And sure enough, Meg makes it into Susan's arms without her head falling off. "Oh God. She's so cute." 

"Susan likes babies." Carter tells me.

"Really? I can't imagine." 

"You should have seen her when her niece was born. Holding her up to the window, trying to teach her the constellations. Even though she didn't know the names of any of them."

"At least I didn't name them after The Three Stooges."

"Hey, you put me on the spot. It was all I could think of." 

"No, you were just a goofball even then." She turns to the baby, "Yeah, your daddy is kinda a clown, isn't he? You missed him falling on his face all over the place earlier. But I'm sure there will be plenty of other opportunities."

"Thanks, Susan. Nice things to say to my daughter." Carter says to her. 

"Your daughter. God, I can't believe you have a baby. It seems like yesterday that we were standing in the nursery with newborn Susie. And you were practically a baby yourself. And look at you now. It's all too weird. Isn't it, Meg? Oh, you are so sweet." 

"Meg," I say, "tell Aunt Susan that she ought to have one of her own so you'll have a playmate."

"Yeah, I'll get right on that, Ab."

"You play your cards right and you could be the one in this bed next year." 

"Are you gonna be in the next room?" She asks. 

"Nooo. Your turn next." 

"Easier said than done." Susan says. 

"Don't act like you don't have any prospects on the horizon." I tell her.

"Well …"

"Are you seeing someone, dear?" Maggie asks.

"Well …" Susan says.

"Yes." I say. 

"Oh, that's nice." Maggie says. "What's he like? Is he a doctor?"

"He's Luka." I tell her. 

"Oh." She says. "Oh." Sounding a bit … confused, perhaps.

"We're all about the inbreeding around here." 

"Yes." Susan says. "But look what good things come from it." She says to the baby in a high pitched voice. "And she doesn't even have any extra toes or anything." 

Apparently Meg didn't like that comment as she starts fussing a bit. 

"That's my cue to give her back." Susan says, handing the baby to her daddy. 

"Hi, Meggie." He says. "Did you want to see Daddy?" She cries a little harder and he rubs the back of his finger along her cheek as he tries to shush her. She immediately turns her head and sucks on his knuckle. "Oh, maybe you want to see Mommy," he says. 

"It's a reflex," I say. "It doesn't necessarily means she wants to nurse." But after a few seconds of sucking on her daddy's finger, she starts to wail. Pretty serious crying for a child that's not even an hour old. She pretty much sounds pissed. "Okay, maybe she does want to nurse. Seems like we just did it, though." 

"Maybe she's still hungry. Maybe she wasn't done before." John suggests. 

"I guess this is what that whole 'feeding on demand' thing is all about." I say. And then I reach for my crying baby. "Hey Meggers … it's okay. Shh, Meg … shh. Okay, Mommy will feed you." What's going on here anyway? Aren't newborn babies supposed to be quiet … placid … asleep? I would get one that's wide awake and demanding right from the start. Let's just hope that hunger is the problem. 

Luckily, it does seem to be what she wants. She latches on and starts sucking enthusiastically. More so than before. Probably she's more awake now. Or hungrier. It's good, though, because the nursing will help my uterus contact. But between those gentle contractions -- which I can definitely feel, but that don't really hurt -- and the tingling in my breasts, not to mention the suckling on my nipple, this whole experience is sort of … sensual. Not exactly sexual, but … kind of like a massage -- it's not necessarily erotic, but it is sensuous. I'd better enjoy it while it lasts. Soon enough my milk will come in and I'll have engorged breasts. And after a few days of the baby using me a pacifier, I can probably look forward to cracked nipples. And something tells me that won't be nearly as much fun as this. But this is pretty good. And even if it starts to get uncomfortable, I want to stick with it. I love the idea of providing the baby with her sustenance. And then there's the whole bonding thing. I look at her in my arms, her skin against my skin … and I know she's mine. I'm hers. I'm her mother. And no one else could do this for her. 

One of her little hands has escaped from her swaddling and is resting against my chest. I pick it up and look at her tiny little fingers. Impossibly small. I kiss her small hand, and she wraps it around my finger. I know that's another reflex, but still it feels pretty cool. My daughter holding my hand. I can't stop staring down at her. Watching her little face. Her eyes are getting heavy. Maybe that sleeping thing is gonna happen after all.

"Abby?" I hear Carter's voice.

"Huh?" 

He's chuckling. "I've been trying to get your attention. It's like you're in another world."

"A whole new world." I say, leaning down to kiss the baby's head. 

"Yeah." He says, laying his hand on Meg's head. "I should probably go and share the good news with everyone." I nod. "You up for having visitors tonight or do you want to wait until tomorrow?" 

"No, I don't mind having visitors. But maybe … if they could wait … like an hour? I know the nurse will be back soon to poke at me again. And I'd like to take a shower, make myself a little more presentable. And …"

"What?"

"I'm hungry."

"I'm not surprised. But are you sure you're ready to eat?" 

"Yeah, I'm fine. I had a baby, not major surgery. I'm not sick. I'm fine. Besides, apparently your daughter is going to be breastfeeding continuously, so I'll need some energy." I say, looking down at the baby who is still nursing away. Guess she wasn't ready for that sleep thing after all. 

"Okay. Whatever you say. What do you want?"

"A cheeseburger. And a milkshake." I grin playfully at him.

"You won't throw it at me this time, will you?" 

"I'll try to control myself." 

"Okay then." He says, kissing my cheek, kissing the baby. "I'll be right back. Will you be okay?" 

"Of course." I say. "I'm not exactly alone." I gesture to my mom and Susan who are anxiously waiting for Meg's feeding to end so they can fight over holding her. "I'm sure we'll be fine. But we'll miss you."

"And I'll miss my girls." He says, taking my hand.

"Oh for God's sake." Susan says. "He's going downstairs, not to the front lines. He'll be back in half an hour."

We all laugh as he walks out the door. Count on Susan to make us laugh. I'm glad she was here. I'm glad my mom was here. I'm lucky. Amazingly lucky. A wonderful husband. A terrific best friend. A supportive mother. And now, the most perfect baby ever. Yeah, it really is a whole new world … and I love it. 


	13. A Happy Little Family

__

Title: This Thing About Birthdays 

Author: Andrea … e-mail is _CarbyLove@aol.com__. Use it. If you have something to say about my fics, I'd love to hear it. And if you are looking to read any of my other smutty, unposted fics … please write and ask ME for them._

Rating: R. For the last time … this story is rated R. Once you open up any story rated R (much like turning on an R-rated movie), you have to be prepared for R-rated material. Whether that is in the body of the story or the intro … it's rated R … as far as I'm concerned that makes everything within the story fair game. If you don't care for, or are offended by, foul language or sexual content … I suggest you keep to the G, PG, and PG-13 -rated fics. If I wanted this to be for everyone, I would have rated it G and not used "bad words" … but it is rated R because I'm the author, and it's my choice to write it that way. It's your choice whether or not to read it. 

Summary: The little fucker fell out. Although I doubt Abby would use the term "fell out." 

Author's Note: Big, giant THANKS to COURTNEY for being a good little bitch and reading and reviewing this chapter in fine style. I tell you, COURTNEY really knows how to review. And by that I mean that she tells me every little thing that she likes about the chapter which I love, being a giant feedback whore. KEL, CATH, sorry you guys missed out on the chance to preview/edit this one … but alas, you weren't here. And there wasn't much editing to do, anyway. COURTNEY, the big shoutout whore, only found two grammatical errors/ typos. So if anyone finds any others, blame COURTNEY who loves to see her name in print. Sorry, she wanted a big shoutout. Also, a big shoutout to everyone who reviewed chapter 12 … that was really great. I got lots and lots of reviews and enjoyed them all. Again, I won't name names and take the chance on leaving someone out. So I'll just stick with THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS! And … um, could you do it again? One last note … NO, this isn't the last chapter. Stay tuned for more. Although I'll be updating the others first … so stay tuned for more of ADL and FAWH. Yay! 

*~*~*~*~*

This Thing About Birthdays

Part II

Chapter 13: A Happy Little Family

"It's a girl!" I announce gleefully to the waiting room.

Immediately, there's a sudden flurry of excited exclamations from everyone in the room. Well, maybe not everyone. The people I've never seen before in my life, who are undoubtedly waiting for news of their own, don't feel compelled to cheer. But my dad, my mom, Eric, and various friends and colleagues from the ER are happily congratulating me.

My mom gets to me first, and I'm a little bit surprised to see tears in her eyes as she hugs me. "Oh, a little girl." She sounds a little teary, too. "Isn't that wonderful? Oh, I'll bet she's gorgeous." 

"She is. She's beautiful. She has your hair." I tell my mom.

"Really? A red head?"

"So far. Red and curly. Maggie says she looks like Eric with her curls." 

"She takes after her uncle, huh?" Eric says, sounding very proud of that fact. 

"Congratulations, son." My dad says, first shaking my hand and then pulling me into a hug and clapping me on the back. "How's Abby?" 

"Great. Tired. Sore. But great. Happy." 

"And how's the baby?" Luka asks.

"Beautiful. Did I mention that? She's beautiful. Perfect. _Big_."

"How big?" Eric asks. "What exactly did the fruit of your loins do to my sister?" 

"Uh …" I say a little sheepishly, having not thought about it in those terms. "21 inches long. And she weighs … 8 lbs and 12 oz."

"Wow." Luka says. 

"Poor Abby." Chuny contributes.

"You said it." Lydia tells her. 

"No wonder she's sore." Deb says. 

"When was the baby born, Dr. Carter?" Gallant asks.

"Five o'clock. Well, 4:57 to be exact. And she came out screaming."

"So what's her name?" Deb wants to know. 

"Ah, you'll find out when I introduce you to her."

"And when will that be?" Deb asks.

"Is she in the nursery? Can we take a peek at her now?" My mom asks, sounding … interested. Well, what do you know?

"Yeah, when can we see the little bugger?" Eric enquires.

"Well, she's rooming in, so I don't think she'll be in the nursery much. But you can see her soon. Abby's feeding her now. And I'm gonna go get Abby something to eat. And then she wants to take a shower, get cleaned up. So she said maybe an hour or so. We'll come and get you when we're ready. Anybody who feels like waiting around."

"Well, where am I going?" Eric asks. "Besides, I'm not leaving until I get to see my niece." 

"You'll get to see her soon." I assure him. 

I promise to return as soon as Abby is ready for company, and then I head off to do the rest of my errands. My next stop is the ER to pass on the good news.

"Carter!" Haleh calls from the admit desk, catching sight of me coming down the hall. 

"What's the word, man?" Malik asks.

"It's a girl!" I exclaim. "I'm a daddy!"

"Oh, Carter … congratulations! That's wonderful!" Haleh grabs me and hugs me.

"Way to go." Malik says, shaking my hand. 

"I didn't do anything. It was Abby. It was all Abby. She was incredible."

"How is she?" Jerry asks.

"Abby or the baby?" I ask.

"Either. Both." 

"Abby's great. The baby is perfect."

"I hope it looks like Abby." Pratt says, showing up behind me.

"She does. She's beautiful. She has lots of hair. And it's red." I'm still a little surprised by that one. 

"So what's her name? How much does she weigh? Come on, Carter. We want details." Haleh says. 

"Her name is Meg. For Margaret. Margaret Abigail Carter. She weighs 8 lbs and 12 oz and she's 21 inches long." 

"8 lbs and 12 oz?" Haleh asks in disbelief. "You didn't say it was a c-section." 

"It wasn't." I assure her. 

"Abby? Our little Abby? Had an almost-nine-pound baby?" Haleh still can't seem to believe this turn of events. I nod. "Oh, that poor thing. I hope you're gonna make it up to her."

"I don't see why it's such a big deal." Frank grouses from the other side of the desk. "You women are always bitching and moaning about childbirth like it's something unnatural. And it's not like you don't all get drugs. You wanna talk about pain, let me tell you about the kidney stone I passed. And no one gave me an epidural to do it, either." 

"Don't pay any attention to him." Jerry tells me. "He's just mad because someone stole his Metamucil."

"I heard that, punk." Frank says. 

"And just what is wrong with having an epidural?" Haleh asks Frank. This seems like a good time to go. I'm sure that our news will get passed down the line.

"Well, I promised Abby I'd get her something to eat, so I'd better go." 

Everyone takes a break from their fighting long enough to ask me to send their good wishes to Abby. And then I go on my second burger and milkshake run of the day. But this time for Abby. 

"Weren't you in here earlier?" The woman handing me my -- Abby's -- order asks.

"Yeah."

"Burger and shake then, too, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but this one's not for me. It's for my wife. She just had a baby. I'm a daddy." I tell her, still amazed when those words come out of my mouth.

"Congratulations. Is this your first?"

"Yep."

"A boy or a girl?"

"A beautiful little girl."

"Oh, isn't that nice. A daddy's little girl. You take good care of them." She instructs.

"I will." I assure her.

"And don't forget about the mommy now that the baby is here. Even if she sometimes seems to forget about you. It's not easy on her, going through all those changes. Try to remember that."

I nod. Advice from strangers. Gotta love that. But she does seem to have a point. And she looks like she's probably done a lot of living and gained some wisdom. I thank her for the advice and for Abby's meal, and head back the way I came. But then I think about the advice I just got and make a short detour. 

"Roses?" I ask the lady behind the counter in the gift store. She looks like a sweet little old lady. Like everybody's grandma. She comes out from behind the register to lead me over the refrigerator that serves as the floral department of the hospital gift shop. I'm in luck because it's pretty well stocked with pink roses, just what I wanted. 

"I'll take all the pink ones." I tell her.

"My goodness, that's a lot of roses. It must be for someone special."

"Yes. Absolutely. My wife. We just had a baby. Our first." 

"Oh, you're a new father. It's such a special time, having a first baby. A girl?" 

"Yeah." I can't help but grin. I have a little girl. 

"Well isn't that nice? Would you like a vase for these roses?"

"Sure."

"I think I've got one that's big enough." 

She shuffles off to look for the vase she has in mind, and I head to the other side of the store after catching the display of teddy bears. There's a cute pink one, the same color as the roses, that caught my eye. I pick it up and find it to be just right. Soft and squishy, not too big and not too small. Just right for sitting in the corner of the crib or for Meg to cuddle … when she gets a little bit bigger. I head back to the register with my latest find. 

"You know what else I think you need?" The saleslady ask me, and I begin to see that the sweet old grandma routine might be a really great sales tactic. By the time I leave the gift shop, I've got a box of candy, the roses in a vase, the teddy bear, and attached to ribbons wrapped around that teddy bear is a big bouquet of pink balloons interspersed with shiny Mylar balloons with such sentiments as "It's A Girl," "Congratulations," "Thank You," and "I Love You." Carrying all this stuff along with Abby's dinner proves to be something of a challenge. I just hope I've gotten all the tripping and falling out my system by now. 

Luckily, I manage to make it back to the room without incident. I put all my things down on the countertop in the little hallway that leads into the room. And when I walk into the main room, I find a much different atmosphere than when I left. It's quiet and peaceful. It smells good. Abby must have gotten that shower she wanted because it smells like our bedroom at home in here now. Susan seems to have departed and Maggie is in the recliner, working on her knitting. I see she's got something pink going now. She looks up and smiles at me as I enter the room. I return the smile as I move over next to the bed. 

And there they are. My girls. My family. A radiant Abby is sitting up in the bed, with her knees pulled up slightly, the baby reclining against her legs. Abby's freshly showered, her damp hair pulled back into a ponytail. She's wearing her own pajamas and seems to have fresh sheets. You wouldn't know a baby was born here just a couple of hours ago. Well, maybe the newborn resting in her mother's lap might give it away. God, she's perfect. Abby has her unwrapped from her blanket and seems to be inspecting her thoroughly while she whispers to her. For her part, Meg seems to be watching Abby quietly, with rapt attention. 

"Hi." I say, kissing Abby's cheek and sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Hi, Meg." I say as I reach down to pick up one of her hands. She's really here. She's real. And I can reach out and touch her. Still amazing.

"Oh, who's here? Yeah, that's Daddy. You knew that voice didn't you?" Abby looks up at me. "Did you see that? She turned her head. She recognizes your voice." 

"See? All those months of talking to your belly weren't for nothing."

"Look at her. She is so perfect." Abby says, running her fingers down Meg's chubby legs and over her feet which she then proceeds to pick up and kiss. Such tiny little toes. My God, I've never seen anything so adorable.

"I know." I tell Abby. "You did good. You made a perfect baby." And she is perfect. Healthy, happy. All her fingers and all her adorable little toes. Round little face. Big, wide, alert eyes. Chubby little body. And that hair.   


"Well, I had some help. But she's just gorgeous. I mean, have you ever seen a baby this beautiful before?" 

"Nope. And of course, as her parents, we aren't at all biased." 

"But look at her. She's just so cute. And her hair is so pretty the way it just curls so nicely. Her head is so round -- she's not a cone head at all. She's a nice pink color and all filled out, not wrinkly and scrawny. She doesn't even have any birthmarks. And, as Susan pointed out, she has all the right number of appendages. She's perfect." 

"She's beautiful. Just like her mother. She's just like you, you know that?" 

"No. She looks like you, too. Look, she has your eyes. And she has your chin." Abby says, running her finger over Meg's chin. "And your ears. And your forehead and your eyebrows." Every part she names, she touches lightly. "And look how long her eyelashes are." Clearly, Abby has memorized Meg's every feature by now. 

"She's a beauty. That's for sure. We're gonna have to lock her up until she's twenty-one." I say.

"Twenty-one? Try thirty-five. At least." And here I thought I would be the overprotective one. "Meggie? Wanna go see Daddy? He barely got to hold you." She turns to me. "You want her?" 

"Of course." While Abby's wrapping her back up, I ask, "How are you feeling?" 

"Like I did about five thousand sit-ups and then went horseback riding. For three days straight. Bareback." Across the room Maggie chuckles.

"So you're a little sore?" I ask.

"A little bit. But that's okay," Abby says, getting a big goofy grin on her face as she looks at Meg, "She's worth it. Yes, yes you are." Abby picks up the swaddled baby and gives her a kiss before passing her over to me. 

"Hi, Meg. Hi, baby." I say as I eagerly take her in my arms. I held her right after she was born, of course, and then later when we were passing her around, but only for a few minutes each time. This time I intend to get to know her. And I realize right away that Abby's right. This baby is gorgeous. I hold her out in front of me, one hand under her bottom, the other cradling her head. My little girl. I feel like I know her already. I definitely love her already. I'm a daddy. No matter how many times I've announced that fact to friends and strangers alike, it is still overwhelming. In a good way. I have a child of my own now. And she's incredible. I look at her and see Abby, but maybe a little of myself too. She's the two of us, together. She was born from our love. And she's easily the best thing that has ever happened to me. 

And, holding her in my arms like this, I feel as though my whole life has been leading me to this moment. There's suddenly a very clear purpose and meaning in my life. Meg. She's what matters now. More than anything else. I just want to take care of her, to love her, to guide her through this life that can be so scary and uncertain. I don't want her to ever feel alone in this world. I won't let that happen. And now I know that I'll never be alone again either. I have a daughter now. My flesh and blood. And I have Abby. The woman I promised to love until death do us part. My family. I'm a lucky man. Just holding my baby girl in my arms and knowing that we belong is enough to make me want to cry. 

"Aww, Meg, you're making your daddy cry." Abby says, leaning over to stroke Meg's head.

"I'm just so glad she's finally here. And she's healthy and happy and perfect." 

"She's the best thing we ever did. Even if we didn't exactly mean to." 

"Don't say that, Abby. You'll give her some kind of complex."

"I wouldn't worry about it, dear," Maggie calls over to me, chuckling. "Most of us wouldn't be here if it weren't for surprises. You want her now and that's all that matters."

"We wanted her then, too." I say.

"We just didn't know it until we already had her." Abby says. 

"Her conception may have been a surprise," I concede, "But her existence was by choice. Right from the start, I couldn't wait for this day. And now, looking at her, holding her … I couldn't imagine it any other way. And I can't help but think that it happened for a reason."

"Yeah. Because we got caught up in the heat of the moment, so to speak. That's the reason. But thank God for careless moments. Where would we be without her?" Abby says, still touching the baby's face gently. She smiles at Meg and her voice goes up several octaves. "Yeah, where would we be without you, peanut? Huh? Daddy and I are so lucky to have you." 

"That's right," Maggie says, "Don't forget how lucky you are. Some people wait a lifetime for moments like this." 

"And we got it without even trying." Abby says. 

"We're blessed." I say, meaning that sincerely.

"Yes, we are." Abby kisses Meg for emphasis of our sentiment. And then sitting up, she looks at me says, "We're also hungry. Did you bring our dinner?"

"Our dinner? Are you going to share?" I ask. She looks a little taken aback at the thought. "Just kidding. I'm not hungry. And yes, I brought your dinner. Along with some other stuff." I say, nodding my head, gesturing toward the hallway. I shift the baby into one arm and stand up, moving to get the goodies. 

"These are for you." I say, presenting the roses to Abby. 

"Thank you," Abby says. "They're beautiful."

"Just like you. Just like our baby." 

"They really are beautiful, John." Maggie says, coming over to inspect the flowers and then finding a place for them on the windowsill where Abby can see them while she's resting in bed.

"You didn't have to get me roses." Abby says.

"I wanted to." 

"But you already gave me these fancy silk pajamas."

"Yeah, I see you found those in the suitcase."

"Well, they were right on top. I couldn't miss them. And they're great, but don't you know what happens when you have a baby? I'm afraid all the random leaking -- from me or the baby -- will ruin them."

"Well, if there's ever a time for me to spoil you … besides, I see you're wearing them anyway."

"Well, I couldn't resist, they go so nicely with my disposable underwear."

"What?"

"It's good though, absorbent underpants … no need to worry about those leaks." 

"You're wearing absorbent, disposable underwear?"

"Sexy. I know." Abby says with mock seriousness.

"Oh well, the pajamas look nice. You look nice." 

"Thank you. I'll look presentable now when everybody stops in to visit. That's why I decided to wear them. So I'd feel pretty." 

"You're always pretty." 

"Even this afternoon when I was screaming at you?"

"Yes, even then."

"Even when I was sweating and grunting, trying to give birth?"

"Especially then."

"I think you have a vivid imagination."

I shake my head at her. "No, I wasn't imagining things. And I have something else for you."

"Dinner?" 

"Yes. But something else too." Meg and I duck back into the little hallway and return with the balloons tied onto the teddy bear and the box of chocolates. 

"What's all this?" Abby asks, laughing. 

"Balloons."

"Thanks, I see that." 

"And some chocolate." 

"Yum." 

"I thought that would get your attention. And the teddy bear is for Meggie. Since she's too young for chocolate. The balloons are for you to share, I guess."

"We'll be sharing the chocolate too. I'll get it today, and she'll get it tomorrow." Abby says, as I go back one last time, bringing back her dinner. 

"Well, here's your dinner to share with her too." 

"Finally. It's about time. I was thinking about eating my pillow." Abby says, happily opening her dinner box. "John." 

"What? Something wrong?"

"Where are the fries?"

"You didn't say you wanted fries."

"I thought it was understood. You always get fries with a burger. Who doesn't know that?"

"You want me to go get you some fries?"

"No, that's okay." She pauses for a minute, then looks up at me. "Would you really go all the way back just for some fries?" 

"Abby, for you? I would do anything. Now more than ever. I mean, look what you did for me." I say, smiling down at Meg, tucked into the crook of my arm. 

"Well, you helped out a little bit with her." Abby says, smiling over at us. "It's so weird. I can't believe she's here. She's not inside me anymore. When I took a shower … I looked down, and no more belly. Well, no more giant belly. I almost wanted to cry. It's kinda sad not being pregnant anymore." Abby's looking down at her recently flattened stomach and looking a bit teary even now. And then she looks back at Meg and smiles. "But then all I have to do is look at her. And I'm glad she's here."

"Me, too. You've been hogging her all this time. And now I can finally enjoy her, too." 

"Hard to believe that just a few hours ago she wasn't born. We didn't even know she was a girl. And now, I can't imagine it any other way. I can't imagine having any other baby but Meg. And already I have no problem thinking of her as Meg. She's not 'the baby' anymore. She's my Meg. It's like she's been with us all the time."

"Well, in a way, she has. I almost can't remember a time when she wasn't part of our lives. But it is weird how quickly you adjust. Didn't we always have a baby girl named Meg?" 

"No. In fact, three hours ago we didn't. We had an unborn baby whose name and gender were still unknown." 

But not anymore, now we have a little girl. A little Margaret Abigail. And she's starting to fuss in my arms. I jiggle her a little bit, but she just starts crying in earnest. 

"Uh … Abby?" 

"What?"

"She's crying. Why's she crying?"

"Well, I don't know. Babies cry." 

"Do you think she's hungry?"

"Oh, no. Don't try that. You're not gonna pass her off to me every time she cries. _I'm_ hungry. I'm trying to eat."

I glance over at Maggie whose back to her knitting, but judging from the smile on her face, not missing a moment of this exchange. Strange. Who would have ever thought that Maggie presence in a room could be so … unobtrusive. I wonder if she wants to hold the baby. 

"And don't look at her, either." Abby says, between sips of her milkshake. "I've seen you with babies often enough. You've got plenty of paternal instincts." 

"Yeah, but none of those babies were mine." 

"That's good to know." She goes back to her milkshake.

So I guess she's not gonna help me. I look down at a wailing Meg cradled in my arms. Just you and me, kid. Okay, Abby's right, it's not like this is the first time I've held a baby. I try a little rocking, a little jiggling, I try talking to her, whispering, letting her suck on my finger. And she still cries. Maggie knits. Abby eats. Meg cries. I think they are all out to get me. 

But then I shift Meg into an upright position, cuddled against my chest. Her arm is curled up next to her, and, quite by accident I think, she seems to find her own fist and start sucking happily on it. With just a few hiccupy cries, she quiets down. I bounce her gently in my arms, patting and then rubbing her back slowly. I can feel her little back rising and falling steadily under my hand. After a few minutes her breathing is slow and even.

"Hey." Abby says quietly. "Look at you … all being a daddy. You've got the touch. Good job."

"Quieting her down?"

"Putting her to sleep."

"She's sleeping?" I knew she was quiet, I didn't know she was asleep.

"Well, what did you think she was doing? Yoga?"

"I put her to sleep?"

"Yep. See? You're a natural." Well hey, that wasn't too tough. Maybe I am a natural. "I'll take her back now." Abby tells me, holding out her arms. 

"Hey, I put her to sleep. I should get to keep her for a while."

"Aren't you going to go get our visitors?"

"You want them to come in while she's sleeping?"

"Well, she might sleep for five minutes, or five hours, or for the better part of the next five days. And if they wake her up, you can just put her back to sleep."

"I think you just want to hold her now that she's quiet. Now that I've done all the work."

"Yeah, you did all the work today." She shoots me a look. Okay, so maybe she did a little more work today. "Give me my baby." 

"She's my baby, too."

"Fine. _Our_ baby. But I'm the one that pushed her out … so c'mon, hand her over. You know, so you can go get everybody."

"I see how it is, now that you're done with the dinner that I brought you, you're trying to get rid of me again." 

"Pretty much."

"So I'm just good for fetching things and holding the baby while you eat?"

"Yeah, now you got it." 

"But now that _I_ got the baby to sleep and you're done eating … I should just automatically hand her over?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I'm her mommy."

"Well, I'm her daddy."

"Sorry, Mommy trumps Daddy."

"How's that fair?"

"It's not." 

"That's what I'm saying … it's not fair."

"You two are like children." Maggie says, putting away her knitting and coming over to pat a sleeping Meg. Who? Abby and I? Gee, what does she mean? 

"Nice example to set for my granddaughter. What are they teaching you, huh Meg?" I think Grandma is scolding us. But I don't know why, it's just friendly banter. Of course, Abby and I probably won't feel the same way when it's Meg and her little brother or sister exchanging 'friendly banter' in the backseat. 

"How about if _I _go get everyone else? And you two can keep fighting?" Maggie offers. 

"Thanks, Maggie." I say as she goes to retrieve the rest of the family.

Abby's looking up at me. "I still want her. Everyone else will be in here in two minutes and then I'll have to share her again. Come on … please? I'm her mother. I miss her. I spent nine months growing her inside of me, and it's not easy getting used to having her outside of me. So is it so much to want to hold her?"

"Oh no, a guilt trip. Now that's really not fair. Especially if you're going to give me the sad eyes." 

"Whatever works." Abby gives me a hopeful smile. I shake my head at her, but smile back.

"You know, Meg," I say to the little bundle sleeping against my chest, "I think your mommy wants to see you." I carefully put my hand behind Meg's head and lower her into Abby's anxiously waiting arms. The baby stirs a bit, sighing slightly in her sleep. 

Abby just stares down at her, smiling. Happy. She's so happy. And so am I. All because of this little bundle of love. It seems incredible that something that doesn't even weigh nine pounds can have such an unbelievable impact on so many lives. Oh Meg, you'll never known what you've done for all of us just by being born. She really is a gift. 

"Listen to those little sounds she's making." Abby says, referring to the coos and gurgles that Meg is making in her sleep. "She looks so sweet when she's sleeping. Like a little angel." 

"She is a little angel. Our little angel."

We're both still transfixed, staring at the little angel, when the door opens and a whole party spills into the room. And suddenly we are surrounded by a bunch of pushy, shoving animals trying to get their claws on our precious little baby. Of course, since those animals are our family, I guess Meg is gonna have to learn to deal with them sooner or later.

"Oh, look at her!" My mother says, having beat out the rest of the crowd to get to Meggie first. "Oh Abby, she's beautiful." Abby? Hey, she didn't do it alone. But okay, she did do most of it. And if providing a beautiful granddaughter can get Abby into my mom's good graces, I won't complain about Abby getting all the credit. 

"You wanna hold her?" Abby asks. I can see she's trying her best to be gracious to my mother. After all, their last meeting wasn't exactly pleasant. Still, I know how much Abby wants things to be civil between all of us, for Meg's sake. 

"May I?" 

"Of course, you're her grandmother." Abby carefully lifts the sleeping Meg to my mom, holding her up like an offering. 

Mom cradles Meg gently in her arms, and I think that I see tears in her eyes. "Oh … she's gorgeous. Such a cute little girl. And it's nice to have a little girl in the family. What's her name?" 

"Go ahead." I say to Abby. "Tell them."

"Meg." She says. "Margaret Abigail Carter." 

"Named after her grandmother, I see." My dad says, giving Maggie a smile. She smiles back, proudly. I'm glad that she's proud to have Meg as her namesake. 

"Oh … Meg." My mom says to the baby, in a voice that sounds like it's actually approaching baby-talk. "Well, hello, Baby Meg. I'm your other grandmother. Eleanor. Grandma Eleanor. But you can call me … Grandma Eleanor." She sounds somewhat reluctant, yet happy, to label herself with that name as she smiles down at Meg, still sleeping in her arms. 

"And I'm your Uncle Eric." Eric looks over my mom's shoulder, talking to the baby. "You can call me Uncle Eric. Of course, you'll have to learn to talk to first. Which is pretty scary, considering the mouth on your mother." 

"Eric." Maggie says, giving him a swat on the arm. 

"Hey, who do you think taught me all those words that you used to wash my mouth out with soap for saying?" He looks back over at the baby. "Hey, Sis, can I hold her?" 

"Have you ever held a baby this little?" Mom asks. Not unpleasantly, but like she's just trying to make sure.

"I've held a puppy that little. Same difference, right?"

"Eric." Abby says. 

"I promise I won't drop her, Abby." 

"Okay, just … be careful. Support her head." My mom carefully puts the baby into Eric's arms, and I realize that I'm holding my breath. But she seems to fit nicely into the crook of his arm, and she doesn't even stir while being transferred. 

"Hey, this is easy." Sure enough, he seems comfortable holding a newborn. Meg doesn't seem in danger of randomly falling to the floor, so I relax. Eric looks down at his niece in his arms. "I didn't think a new baby would feel this heavy. But wow, she's heavy."

"You're telling me." Abby says. I squeeze her shoulder lightly. Wouldn't want her to think I don't appreciate all that effort. 

"Isn't she adorable?" Maggie asks Eric.

"Ehn. I've seen better." 

"Eric!" Maggie scolds.

"If you're gonna say things like that, you can just pass her right on." Abby says, referring to the pass-the-baby party that seems to be going on.

"Geez, nobody can take a joke, Meg. I hope you get my sense of humor. And of course you're adorable. You look like me." He looks over at us, seeming to contemplate something. "I think she's a keeper, Abby. "

"Well that's good," Abby says, "Because I'm pretty sure there's a 'no return' policy on these things. No refunds. No exchanges."

"Well," I say to Abby, "There's no way we'd want to exchange her, anyway. She's the best baby here." 

"And how would you know?" Abby asks me. 

"Well, look at her." 

"True enough."

"Oh, she is a beauty." My dad, says, taking his turn with Meg. "Abby, John … you did good."

"It was all Abby." 

"You contributed." Nice of Abby to throw me a bone. "Well, you or the mailman." 

"Haha. Okay, I deserved that."

"Yeah, ya did. But really, I think it must be you because when I look at her I see you." Abby tells me. 

"No, she looks like you." 

"Actually, John," My dad says, studying Meg. "I think Abby's right. Meg looks likes her mother, but she must look like you, too. Because she looks like all the Carter babies."

My mom looks over at Meg, seeming to study her too. "Yes, she does look like a Carter." Well, that's a relief. Not that I was ever worried, but I'm glad my parents don't seem to have any doubts about Meg's origins. Abby must be thinking the same thing because she elbows me gently, looking up at me with her characteristic wry smile. Thankfully, though, things really do seem to be going pretty smoothly which is quite a relief. 

The next few hours are spent with Meg getting to know her family through osmosis as she continues to sleep on peacefully. She never wakes once as she's passed around between her grandparents, her uncle, and our friends who stop by to meet her. The general consensus seems to be that Meg really is adorable. Everyone seems to comment on her hair. And while just about everybody agrees that she looks a lot like Abby, they seem to think there's some resemblance to me. Which makes me inordinately proud. 

As wonderful as it to our friends and family so excited and happy to meet Meg, eventually I can tell that Abby's had about enough. She's tired. After all, she's had a long day. And she's a little agitated. All this sharing of her brand new baby is getting kinda rough. Luckily Maggie seems to notice as Abby yawns yet again. She announces that it's probably time for her to go, inspiring a mass exodus. Somewhere in the flurry of good-byes, Meg wakes up and starts to cry. She gets passed back to Abby who is then busy trying to comfort her crying baby and politely say good-bye to friends and family all at the same time. I finally manage to herd everyone out of the room, leaving Abby to deal with just the baby. I see my parents off and make sure Maggie and Eric can find their way to our place. Taking my keys, Maggie brushes off my offer to drive them or at least put them in a cab. She assures me that they will be fine, and I should stay with Abby and the baby. So I say good night and return to my family. 

When I get back to the room all is quiet. Well, not exactly quiet, but the baby is no longer crying. I can hear Abby whispering to her. And I can hear smacking and sucking sounds from Meg. 

"Is she nursing?" I ask Abby, who's lying on the bed with her back to me. 

She looks over her shoulder at me, and shakes her head. 

"Nope, we're trying out the pacifier. I don't think she's sold yet. But she's so busying trying to figure it out that she quieted right down when I plugged her up." 

I walk over to the bed and look down at my girls. Watching them, I'm amazed at how at ease Abby seems. She's only been a mother for a matter of hours, yet she seems very comfortable. She's lying on her side with the baby lying next to her. One arm is wrapped around Meg, holding her securely. Abby's other hand rubs Meg's belly and strokes her arms, legs, face tenderly. The baby looks around, wide-eyed. And Abby watches Meg intently with a happy, peaceful smile on her face. I move around to the other side of the bed, sitting down in a chair and joining Abby in watching our daughter. We're both hypnotized by this little one and the fascinating show she's putting on. Currently, she's just working on the pacifier, trying to coordinate her sucking in such a way that the thing will stay in her mouth. I guess it's not that easy to do when you are only a few hours old because every few seconds, the pacifier threatens to fall out. But Abby seems to anticipate this and each time moves her hand to hold the pacifier gently in Meg's mouth. I marvel again at her maternal instincts that seem to have appeared immediately. I feel like I could stay here like this, just watching them, for hours. I realize that this is the first time that we've really had a chance to be alone together. As a family. 

"Can you believe she's ours?" I ask Abby. 

"No, not really. But she is. She's here to stay. No one's gonna take her back."

"Of course not. We made her. We should get to keep her." I give Abby a smile.

"Thank you." She looks over at me with misty eyes, reaching out her hand to me.

"For what?" I ask.

"For giving me Meg." She looks from me to the baby, running a fingertip along Meg's cheek while making funny faces at her.

"You're happy, huh?"

"Of course." She furrows her brow at me, probably thinking I'm crazy for even asking. "Why wouldn't I be? I have a perfect, healthy, beautiful baby. And you got your Daddy's little girl that you were looking for, so you must be happy too." 

Just then Meg loses her pacifier and begins to cry. I pick it up and put it back in her mouth, but she promptly drops it again. 

"She's not too good at it yet, you kind of have to hold it in there for a minute." Abby advises.

I do as Abby instructs and sure enough, after a minute Meg quiets down. 

"There you go, sweetie." I say to her. 

She turns her little head to look at me. With respectful admiration, I'm sure. Or maybe just idle curiosity. She seems to recognize my voice, but I wonder if she's busy trying to figure out who I am. Meg's connection to Abby is so obvious, almost tangible. Which makes sense, considering they've been two people in one body for the last nine months. So now all it takes is Abby's voice, Abby's touch … Abby's boobs to comfort Meg seemingly instantly. I have no doubts that Meg knows exactly who Abby is. On the other hand, I'm not sure she has the faintest clue who I am. But she does respond to my voice consistently, and it's amazing how much that means to me. 

Who would have ever thought that a baby turning her head toward the sound of my voice would make my heart swell with pride … and love? So much love. It's incredibly, really, how much I love this little person. She has me wrapped around her little finger. And if I thought I had it bad for her mother, I know already that I'm gonna be in big trouble with Meg. It's gonna take an awful lot of willpower not to spoil her rotten.

"You wanna join us?" Abby asks.

"Huh?" I say, shaking off my reverie. 

"I see how you're looking at her. But I'm not giving her up. However, if you want to join us …"

"You think there's room?" 

"We'll make room." 

She scoots over a bit on the bed while I kick off my shoes, and slide in next to her, Meg happily nestled in between us. 

"Remember when you were pregnant, and we used to say that in just a few months we'd have a baby lying in between us? And here she is."

"When I was pregnant … my God, I was pregnant this afternoon. And now … I'm not. It's so strange. I kinda miss it." 

"Well, you just let me know when you get to missing it too much." 

"Uh-huh. I'll do that. Just don't hold your breath; I don't expect it to be anytime soon." 

"No?" 

"As much as it may be your dream to keep me barefoot and pregnant perpetually, I think I need a few years. I want some time with just Meg. Right, Meggie? Right? You want to be the center of attention for a while, don't you? Yeah … you don't want to share the spotlight too soon." Abby's crinkling up her nose and looking perfectly adorable as she coos at Meg. Then she turns back to me. "After she's walking and talking and out of diapers … _then_ we can think about a little brother or sister."

Speaking of diapers … I do an exaggerated sniff. 

"I didn't do it." Abby says, pointing the little bundle between us. "I think it was you-know-who." Meggie regards us calmly, sucking happily on her pacifier. Seemingly unperturbed by odor emanating from her diaper. If I was lying around with something that stinky in my diaper, I think I would cry. "You better change her." Abby tells me.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. Here." She reaches behind her to the bedside table and then hands me a diaper and a little plastic box full of baby wipes.

"Here? You want me to change her here?"

"Well, you can take her over to the isolette thing if you want to, but here's fine, just don't make a mess." 

Sounds easy enough. Until I lay Meg down in front of me and get her unwrapped. At first she's not the least bit perturbed. And nothing is oozing out of the side of her diaper, so that's a good sign. I start to undo the tabs of her diaper, but Abby puts her hand on my arm. Am I doing something wrong already?

"You might want to open up the other diaper and slip it under her. Just in case."

Just in case of what? But I just nod and take Abby's advice. And when I finally get Meg's diaper open I'm confronted with a sticky, dark mess. Seems my baby poops tar. And she's none too happy about it, apparently. She spits out the pacifier and starts howling. What? I couldn't have hurt her, I haven't even touched her.

"Why's she crying?" I ask.

"She's mad." Abby tells me. I give her a look. "They hate to be naked. It makes them cold and scared. She just trying to say 'hurry up, Daddy … I wanna be all wrapped up again.'" Nice of Abby to do a baby voice. However if she really wants to do an impression of Meg, she's going to need to wail like a siren. The sound of Meg's somewhat frantic crying is kind of disconcerting. 

"It's okay, Meg." I grab the pacifier and try sticking that back in her mouth. "Here … do you want your binky?" 

I guess not since she spits it back out in favor of screeching some more. Meanwhile I'm trying to scrape this goop off her tiny little bottom. What _is_ this stuff? My God, I'm gonna need that Goof Off stuff that we use to get our parking stickers off our car bumpers. Finally, a half a dozen wipes later I get Meg sufficiently cleaned up, re-diapered, and wrapped up again. Since she's still crying, I pass her over to Abby while I get up to wash my hands and dispose of the dirty diaper in a lead-lined hazardous waste receptacle. Geez, that's just plain gross. 

I make my way back to the bed, crawling in next to Abby and the baby once again. Abby's trying to interest Meg in the pacifier, but Meg's not having it. You would think she'd be happy now that she's clean and dry again. 

"Okay," Abby says with a sigh, "I guess this thing isn't gonna do it for you anymore, huh? Time for the real deal?" 

I watch as Abby hooks the ring of the pacifier over her finger, having given up on it as a tool to … well … pacify Meg. Instead she unbuttons her pajama top and moves the baby closer to her, arranging Meg so that she's lying on her side. 

"Can you feed her like that?" I ask.

"What? Lying in bed? You better believe it. I don't intend to sit up all night in some hard rocking chair. And I seriously doubt that Meg cares." 

Sure enough, she doesn't really seem to care. I watch as she snuggles up against Abby, and then begins nursing with gusto. She stops crying, of course. I guess it would be hard to scream and eat at the same time. In fact, she seems to sigh happily in her mother's arms. Such simple needs. And that Abby and I, but especially Abby, seem to be able to satisfy those needs is amazing to me. Maybe we'll do okay with this whole thing. 

"You're pretty good at this." I tell Abby.

"It's early yet. Give me time and I'm sure I can think of some way to mess up." But there's laughter in her voice.

"No, you really know what you're doing." 

"Well, all those years in OB, I guess."

"Nuh-uh. It's more than that." She just looks at me. I smile and shrug. "And … that's really incredible." I say, watching Abby and Meg breastfeeding. 

"I know." Abby says, looking down at the baby and stroking her little head. 

"It's a beautiful thing." She just smiles contentedly. "You're beautiful. And you gave me a beautiful baby girl. It's … wow."

"It's a miracle."

Yes. Yes, it is. In so many ways. Where would we be with this little baby? I shudder to think about it. I know that news of her impending arrival was a complete surprise. But this isn't the first time that I've felt an immense relief that she came into our lives. The timing may not have seemed ideal, but really, I think it's the best thing that could have ever happened to us. And now here we are. A family. 

I realize suddenly that someone is humming. It's not me. I doubt it's Meg. I look over at Abby. 

"What's that you're humming?"  


"Huh?"

"You were humming something. But I didn't quite catch what it was."

"Oh … um … nothing."

"C'mon, you can tell me."

"No, it's dumb."

"So?"

"I don't even know all the words."

"Since when does that stop you?"

"It's silly, really. And not your typical lullaby."

"Abby, I would never expect anything typical of you."

She looks at me for a minute, like she's trying to decide whether that's a compliment or an insult. Then she sighs, and looking down at Meg, starts to sing quietly. 

__

"I'll reach out my hand to you, I'll have faith in all you do. Just call my name, and I'll be there. Let me fill you heart with joy and laughter. Togetherness, well that's all I'm after. Whenever you need me, I'll be there."

She looks up at me and shrugs. "I don't know. It just popped into my head."

"Well, it's appropriate. But you're right, I never would have thought of the Jackson 5 as lullaby material." 

She shrugs again. "There's more. But I couldn't remember … something about 'I'll be there to comfort you' …" 

I hate to admit it, but I actually know the words. I'm not about to sing, but I guess I can recite them. "I'll be there to comfort you. Build my world of dreams around you, I'm so glad that I found you." Abby gives me a bemused smile, but I keep going. "I'll be there with a love that's strong. I'll be your strength, I'll keep holding on."

"I can't believe you know that. Oh God, this is so sad. We are so going to warp this kid."

"With Motown hits of the 70s?" 

"The fact that we sing them as lullabies … I think there just may be a little something wrong with us."

"Hey, I wasn't singing. You were singing."

"Then I think you should sing with me." 

"Abby …"

"You obviously know the words." She looks at me. Raises her eyebrows in question. I give her a little eye roll in response. Agreeing, I guess. She starts singing again, and this time I chime in, looking down at a sleepy Meg. 

__

"I'll be there to protect you. With an unselfish love that respects you. Just call my name, and I'll be there." 

I look over at Abby just in time to see her yawn and then look down at Meg with a sleepy little smile on her face. 

"I think she's gonna fall asleep."

"I think you're gonna fall asleep."

"Well, I had a long day."

"You both did."

"We all did. It's hard work. This having a baby thing." 

"But worth it?"

"Absolutely. We're a family now. For as long as I can remember, I just wanted to be a part of a real family. And now I am." 

She kisses the top of Meg's head, looking a little teary. I wrap my arms around my wife and baby, holding them close. Abby closes her eyes, a small little smile playing on her lips. And here we are. Just the three of us. Abby, Meg, and I all wrapped up together, falling asleep together for the first time. A happy little family. Just what I always wanted. 


	14. Daddy's Turn

__

Title: This Thing About Birthdays 

Author: Andrea 

Rating: R 

Summary: Abby and Carter had a baby. In one of my fics? Amazing, I know. 

Author's Note: Thanks, COURTNEY. Took you long enough, but you know how I love you never-ending praise. So I went for short and sweet with this one. Hope you all enjoy. And you know if you could review … it would really cheer me up. And the cheerier I get, the more likely I am to crank out more chapters. Just, you know, FYI. 

*~*~*~*

This Thing About Birthdays

Part III

__

Chapter 14: Daddy's Turn 

As soon as I roll over, I know that something is different. I open up my eyes and realize that the bed is empty. A glance at the clock confirms that this is the time of night when I should roll over to find Abby and Meg sound asleep -- or awake and nursing -- next to me. Instead, I have the bed all to myself, and the room is eerily quiet. But when I listen closely, I can hear the muffled sounds of the baby crying. And then the worry reflex, as I like to think of it, kicks in. What if something's wrong? I hop out of bed and hurry across the room, opening the door and stepping into the hallway. The faint glow of light from the room next door tells me that Abby and Meg are in the nursery. 

I open the door quietly and find a very sleepy-looking Abby slumped in the rocking chair in the corner of Meg's room. The little bundle in her arms is fussing even while Abby rocks back and forth half-heartedly. 

"Hi," she says, flatly looking up at me with a similarly flat expression. The exhaustion is obvious in her face. 

I have no idea why she's in here, sitting up with the baby. The normal pattern is that we put Meg down for the night in her bassinet in our room. About five minutes later we're sound asleep in our own bed. But this arrangement never lasts more than a few hours because the first time Meg wakes us for a feeding, I get her, change her, and bring her back to Abby. And that's where the baby stays for the rest of the night. Sleeping in between us in the middle of our bed. So far it's been working pretty well. Maybe not the most restful sleep ever for Abby and I, but the baby seems to sleep well. And her parents have been getting by, too. Clearly whatever Abby is trying to do tonight isn't as successful. 

"Hi," I say to Abby. "What are you doing in here?" 

"She was kinda fussy tonight."

"So?"

"So … I wanted you to get a good night's sleep for once. You slept through her first round of crying -- and you just looked so tired -- and then when she kept fussing … well, before she could wake you, I brought her in here." 

"And you're just gonna sit up in the rocking chair all night?" 

"Well, I thought that maybe after I fed her, I could lay her down in the crib. Actually try it out. And if she stayed asleep, I was going to sneak back to bed. Unfortunately, she seems to have other ideas."

"She _is _used to sleeping in our bed with us."

"She's ten days old, how can she be used to anything?"

"It's all she's ever known," I say as I cross the room and sit down on the little ottoman that matches the rocker, putting me just inches away from Abby and the baby. 

"I tried laying down with her in the guest room, but she still fussed. She was fussing when she was in bed with us, too. She usually nurses happily and then falls right to sleep. But not tonight. Something's not quite right with her, I guess."

"Is she sick?" I reach out to touch the baby's head and find her nice and cool to the touch. 

"I don't think so," Abby sighs. "No fever. She's eating just fine. She's just not sleeping. So she's fussing instead. Probably because she's tired."

"So why doesn't she go to sleep?"

"I don't know," Abby says with a tired, little half smile, "You'd have to ask her. Maybe it's baby insomnia." She looks down at Meg with a yawn. "What's wrong, pumpkin? Huh? Just can't fall asleep?" Meg starts crying a bit harder, and in response, Abby cuddles her a bit closer, rocking with more energy. Abby sighs, letting her head fall back against the chair. "I can't believe it. I jinxed us."

"What?" I ask her, confused. 

"Yeah. Just this morning --when I woke up after a fairly good night's sleep-- I actually thought to myself, 'Wow, we really got lucky -- she's such a good sleeper.' I couldn't understand what all this fuss was about having a new baby and getting no sleep. I was getting plenty of sleep. Even with breastfeeding, I was getting plenty of sleep since she was just joining me in bed. But no sooner did I think that … and look what happened. Where's my good sleeper now? She's up all night fussing at me. And I'll be damned if I know what she wants. I fed her, I changed, I walked her, I rocked her."

"Maybe she just needs to cry," I suggest gently, reaching out for Abby's hand. 

"Well that sucks. Talk about bad timing. I hope she's not gonna wanna cry all night every night. Because I don't think I could take it."

"Ab?" She lifts her head from the rocker and looks at me. Although it's debatable as to whether she's actually able to focus on me. She's really not used to this being up all night thing. "Let me take her for a while." 

"No, you should go back and get some sleep." 

"I already got a few hours under my belt, and you look beat. So you should go sleep for a couple hours."

"She's gonna need to eat."

"Oh. Do you want to feed her first?"

"No, I just fed her." Abby's _almost _making sense, but she sounds like she's in a daze. Half-asleep, I suppose.

"Then she won't need to eat for a little bit. So why don't you go on to bed?" I implore her, holding out my arms for Meg. 

"But it's your birthday. I wanted to give you a full night's sleep as a gift." 

"You already gave me more than enough this year," I tell her, gently removing Meg from her arms. "Besides, what I really want for my birthday is to have my baby girl all to myself for a while."

"Really?" 

"Absolutely. Now come on, let's get you to bed." I carefully stand up with Meggie in my arms. Then I move her to one arm so that I can give Abby a hand getting out of the rocker before leading her back to our bedroom. I pull back the covers for her, and she seems to literally fall into bed, looking up at me all bleary-eyed. 

"Happy birthday," she whispers.

"Thank you," I say, leaning over to kiss her forehead. And even with a fussing Meg so close to her, Abby's eyes drop closed. Well, it is almost four in the morning, and I'll bet she didn't sleep at all tonight. She probably waited up for Meg to wake for her first feeding. So she's probably been up for almost twenty-four hours. Not a major feat for her a few months ago, but she did just have a baby a little more than a week ago. And said baby does demand frequent feedings that only her mother can provide right now. No wonder Abby's not up to sitting up all night holding Meg. 

Meg, who is starting to cry harder. I figure it's time to get out the bedroom before Abby wakes up and changes her mind about turning the baby over to me. I notice a distinct odor in the air. And if Meg just ate … well, usually a feeding also means a diaper change. Somehow at night we all manage to sleep in spite of it. But during the day (or when we are fully awake at night) we like to keep on top of it. So Meg and I head next door and get her diaper changed. I'm actually getting pretty good at it. Once she's cleaned up and re-diapered and rewrapped, we go downstairs for a little Daddy-daughter time. Armed with a pacifier and a burp clothe, I settle down on the couch with the baby. I put her over my shoulder and start rubbing and patting her back, hoping to elicit a burp. Maybe she's fussy tonight because she's got a gas bubble trapped in there somewhere. Especially since she did just eat. And with her mother in a hazy, dream-like state, it's tough to tell whether or not Meg got burped. Then again, she doesn't get burped in the middle of the night when she and Abby fall asleep in our bed in the middle of nursing. So maybe it's not gas. Maybe it's something else. 

"I know," I say aloud to Meg, "You just can't sleep because you're so excited about Daddy's birthday, right?" 

Meg doesn't answer, just burps in my ear. A big burp, but hopefully not a wet one. I change her position in my arms, moving her into a cradle hold, so I can check for signs of spitting up. Ah, just a little bit at the corner of her mouth. I wipe it away gently, smiling down at her. I can't wait for the day that she smiles back at me. She hasn't done it yet, but any day now we might get a real smile out of her. So far we've seen her make smiley-faces in her sleep, which Abby always attributes to gas. And I guess it's not a real smile until it's in response to something, anyway. 

Right now, Meg has quieted down and is just regarding me carefully. I would almost say suspiciously. Except she's a newborn and has no idea how to look at someone with suspicion. But still …well, I'm not yet convinced she knows who I am. Abby says that I'm being ridiculous and points out that Meg invariably turns her head toward my voice so she must recognize me. But as true as that is, it's Abby's voice that has the power to soothe her. Even at ten days old, I swear my daughter is playing favorites. And naturally, she prefers her mother. Which is how it should be, I guess, considering what Abby went through to bring her into the world. Still … I wouldn't say I'm jealous, exactly, but … well, let's just say I'm glad to have Meg all to myself right now. It doesn't happen much. What with the way Meg needs Abby. Or maybe the way Abby needs Meg. 

Not that I'm not thrilled that Abby is such a conscientious mother. I am. I think it's great. Abby's really taken to motherhood like a duck to water. To say Abby really loves our baby wouldn't even begin to cover it. To say that Abby is infatuated with Meg to the point that it borders on obsession would be a little bit closer to the truth. Not that it's a bad thing. To all appearances, Abby loves motherhood. And she's good at it. Which can a bit intimidating. Abby is so on top of … everything when it comes to Meg, that sometimes I feel … inadequate. Abby always seems to know what she wants or what she needs. Abby picks her up and whispers to her, and immediately Meg is comforted. And every time Meg so much as makes a peep, Abby is there. Some sort of weird mother-radar kicks in, and SuperMommy swoops in to save Meg. Half the time, it's before I've even realized that Meg needs something. So I guess it's kind of by default that so far Abby seems to have spent so much more time with Meg. And no wonder Meg likes her better. But now it's my turn to spend some quality time with Meg. 

This is the first time, I think, that Abby's voluntarily turned Meg over to me. At least without hovering nervously in the background waiting to make sure that the baby didn't need to be rescued from my ineptitude. I'm all too well aware that it only happened tonight because Abby was practically asleep sitting up, and I took total advantage of her state of exhaustion. But she gets to sleep while Meg and I bond, so I think it works out well for all of us. 

"Hey, sweetie," I say, looking down at Meg, "Do you feel better now? Huh? You seem happier. Were you all gassy? Or did you just want a chance to hang out with Daddy? You wore out your mom. So now that Mommy's out of the way, it's just you and me. What do you think about that?" 

She's apparently unimpressed. She blinks at me, then starts making 'Os' with her mouth. I mimic her movements, making my lips into the shape of an O as well. She brings her little hands up to her face. Her nails would be digging into her cheeks right now, if her nightgown didn't have those fold-over flaps to cover her tiny hands. I remember the first time Abby showed me one of the little t-shirts with these built-in mittens, and I had no idea what they were for. But Abby knew. And now she wouldn't think of putting Meg to bed without covering her little hands to protect her from her nocturnal scratching. The only problem is, this way, I can't hold Meg's little hand. So push back one of the little cuffs and slip my finger into her palm. She immediately gets a good grip on it, and I grin like an idiot at her. 

"You are so lucky, Meg. Do you know that? You have the best mommy. You really do. Okay, so maybe she hogs you a little bit. That's not so bad. In fact, it's good for you. Having such an attentive mother. And do you what she's going to do today? She's having a birthday party for me. Can you believe it? I told her not to worry about it. After all, she only had you a week ago. But she wanted to do it. So everybody is coming over to see you later. Oh, they might say they are coming for my party, but we all know they're coming to see you. But that's okay with me. And who can blame them? I mean, look at you … you're gorgeous." 

I run my hand over her head full of red curls. My God, she is beautiful. And she's mine. I have a daughter named Meg. A part of me, a part of Abby … I wonder when you get to the point where you don't look at them with such wonder anymore? I know there must come a time when this little person's existence will be something that I take for granted. And I guess that's how it has to be if I'm gonna have any chance at all at not spoiling her rotten. But right now I can't imagine not staring at her in awe, marveling at her existence. And I hope that never really ends completely. I hope even on days when it's hard, or when she's being difficult, or when she's been a part of my life for so long that it seems as if she was always here I'll still be able to look at her and see the angel that I hold in my arms right now. I know that at some point this baby euphoria has to end and we'll settle into the new routine of our lives. And I know that this new life will quickly become … well … routine. But I still hope that some of the feelings that are so strong today will last forever. I know I don't ever want to forget what this feels like. And hopefully, watching her sleeping form, even when she's in the midst of the terrible twos or the terrible teens, I'll be able to remember these first days and be reminded of what a miracle she really is.

I stare at her little face, trying to memorize every last detail about her. She looks up at me with the same concentration. She's wide awake. Quiet at the moment, but showing no particular interest in sleeping. "Don't you know it's the middle of the night, and you're supposed to be asleep? Yeah, it's nighttime. Baby Meg is supposed to be nighty-night. You usually sleep at night. So what's going on? Full moon?"   


Needless to say, she doesn't answer me, just gurgles in my arms. "Well, it's okay. I like being up with you. Did you know that? Did you know how much Daddy would enjoy sitting up with his little girl? Are you trying to give me a birthday gift? This is the best one you could have given me. I've been wanting some time alone with you. I thought I might have to lock your mom in the closet to get it, though. But this way … I think even she'll be glad. She was pretty tired, huh? You were keeping her up. But don't worry, she loves it. Just try not to do it too often. Or we'll all be sorry."

I don't really think Meg is paying any attention. In fact, she starting to fuss a bit again. Quickly the fussing turns to more lusty crying. 

"Shh, sweetie. It's okay, Meggie. Daddy's here. You're okay." 

I jiggle her in my arms, I rock my arms back and forth. And still she cries. I try holding her up against my shoulder, and then cuddled against my chest. I try that football hold thing that Abby does, with her wrapped tight and tucked under my arm. I get up and walk around, bouncing with each step, patting and rubbing her back soothingly. I hold her with her belly resting on my forearm, her head supported by my hand, rocking my arm back and forth. I try whispering. I try singing. I try the pacifier -- on several occasions. Every time I offer it to her, she spits it out or cries harder. I'm beginning to understand why Abby looked so weary. This crying can wear you out. 

"Okay, Meg … I give up. We'd better try something else." But what? I look around the room, and my eyes land on the bouncy seat, sitting on the floor in the corner. We haven't used it too much since usually Meg is being held by someone. Maggie and Eric were here the better part of the week that we've been home with the baby, so there hasn't been any shortage of arms to hold her. But we might as well try out that bouncy seat sometime. No time like the present, I guess. 

"So let's see how this thing works, huh Meg? What do you say?" I put her in the bouncy seat, securing her with the wide strap across her lap. This seat has a vibrating function … probably something similar to sticking her on the washing machine. I turn it on now, hoping that it might soothe her. It doesn't seem to have any effect whatsoever. But with my hands free, it's easier to hold in the pacifier for her. That seems to quiet her down, once she has it securely in her mouth. She takes a little shuddery breath as she stops crying. 

"That's better." Of course now I'm sitting on the floor in the corner with her. I should have taken the seat over to the couch. Well, I suppose I can move it with her in it. Carefully I slip my arms under the seat and scoop it up. I walk slowly across the room and set the seat down on the coffee table. So far, so good. I move my arms away carefully. I even push on the top of the seat, causing it to bounce, as its name suggests, thinking this might lull Meg. All seems well as I sit down on the couch in front of the baby in the bouncy seat, intending to talk to her. But as I sit, my knee bumps against Meg's chair and jostles her. The pacifier comes tumbling out … and the screams follow by mere seconds. 

"Here we go again," I sigh under my breathe. I try sticking the pacifier back in, but Meg seems uninterested in it now. She's really working herself up now. So I take her out of the bouncy seat and try walking her again. When that doesn't do much, I decide to try the swing. Another piece of baby paraphernalia that we've yet to use. I carefully put Meg in and set it to swinging. And she quiets down. Wow. Okay. I'll take it. As I watch her swinging back and forth, she seems pretty relaxed. Maybe she'll even fall asleep. Her eyes seem to close every time the swing travels backward and open every time it moves forward. So maybe soon they'll stay closed. But looking at her tiny little body in the big swing, I can't help but think she looks uncomfortably slumped over. So I go over and straighten her out, trying to nestle her head in the cushion provided to make the swing more comfortable for newborns. 

Of course, this pisses her off to no end, and she starts crying again. I try holding the pacifier in her mouth, but no dice. Well, that was pretty smooth. I had her calm, but then I made her cry again. Eventually I give up on the miracle of the baby swing happening twice in one night and take her out. Back to the walking. This time I try cradling her my arms. I stick the binky in her mouth and turn her so that her little head in pushed up against my chest, holding the pacifier in her mouth. Finding a good rhythm to my bouncy steps, I take to patting her little bottom steadily while I hum and sing quietly. After a few minutes of this routine, her cries taper off. 

I take a deep breath and let out a sigh. So does Meg. Okay, this is better. I smile down at her, not stopping my patting or rocking. I watch as her little eyelids get heavier and droop more and more. But it seems like every time that her eyes are about to close, something in her pulls her back into wakefulness, and her eyes pop open once again. She looks so tired. Her little eyes look so heavy. So why is she fighting it? Why doesn't she just let herself fall asleep? 

"Meggers, you're so sleepy," I say in what I hope is a soothing tone of voice. "Go to sleep, Meggie." I run the back of my finger over her soft little cheek. Her eyes finally close and her breathing evens out. Okay, she's asleep. Good. I sit down carefully on the couch. 

But not carefully enough, I guess. Suddenly Meg's eyes fly open and she starts crying in earnest once again. Her little hands are raised up to her face, and I can imagine her fists balled up inside her little mittens. She draws up her knees, too and irritably turns her head back and forth. She's not happy. What I don't know is if this is some kind of colic or if she's hungry. The way her knees are drawn up, I would imagine it's her belly that's bothering her one way or the other. 

"What's wrong, sweetie?" I ask, rubbing her belly lightly. Then I probe a bit harder, doing a belly check. It's benign, so I assume this is run-of-the-mill gas. I keep rubbing, hoping to ease any pain she might have. But when she spits out her pacifier and turns her head toward me, rooting against my t-shirt clad chest, I start to think that maybe she's just hungry. Her rooting gets a bit more serious, with her trying to … nurse on me through my shirt. 

"Sorry, honey, Daddy can't help you with this one. Time to go wake Mommy, I think." 

Meg and I go back upstairs, detouring into the nursery for another diaper change. I'm not sure she needs it, but it can't hurt to go in with a clean slate. Besides, maybe her crying will penetrate Abby's subconscious and wake her slowly. 

Or maybe not. I walk into our bedroom, and can see, thanks to the sky which is starting to lighten already, that Abby is zonked out in the middle of the bed. Sprawled across it on her back, snoring. Well, as soon as I get Meg close to her, I'm sure she'll wake up. I crawl into the bed with the crying baby, expecting that Abby, who usually jumps up at the sound of Meg hiccupping, will wake immediately. Nope, not so much. 

"Abby," I say, quietly, leaning over to shake her shoulder gently. She rolls over on to her side toward me, but her eyes don't open. "Abby, wake up. C'mon. Meg needs you. She's hungry, sweetie. You have to wake up." She mumbles something incoherent. Well, this is ridiculous. Meg is practically crying in her ear. I can't believe she's still asleep. I lay my hand on her forehead, worried that maybe she's sick. But she feels cool enough. Maybe all the vigilance over Meg for the past week has finally caught up with her. Maybe she's just in that deep sleep that's hardest to wake from. 

I flip on the bedside light and shake Abby once again. "Abby, c'mon, wake up. Abby? Abby!" Nothing. Great. I've got a starving, breastfeeding newborn in my arms and a wife who is dead to the world. I move a little closer to Abby, thinking maybe Meg crying in her ear will get through to her. And in fact, Meg starts crying harder. Maybe she's close enough now that she can smell Abby's milk. Speaking of which, I look down at Abby and see two tell-tale wet patches forming on her nightshirt. Even if she doesn't know what's going on, her body does. With Meg's cries, her milk is letting down. Well, okay … Abby's nursed her enough times in her sleep … maybe I should just stick Meg on. It can't be that hard. 

I lay Meg down in the middle of the bed and reach over toward Abby. Her nightshirt is the kind meant to look like a button down shirt. So … it's got a bunch of buttons down the front, oddly enough. I start unbuttoning the top button.

"Not now, Carter. I'm tired," Abby says quite clearly, swatting my hand away. She turns over onto her other side, her back toward me now.

"Abby. Abby, you have to feed the baby." I say as I lean over her and unbutton a couple more buttons, then push the material out of the way. 

"Uh-huh," she mumbles, but her eyes don't really open up. However, as soon as I lay Meg next to her body, Abby's arms immediately encircle her, pulling her close, arranging the baby into the right position. Even in her sleep, she knows just what to do. But then, she's been doing this, in her sleep, since Meg was born. All of ten days ago. Still amazing. But I guess some things just come naturally. Or you adjust quickly. Certainly Meg has. Odd to think that a little more than a week ago, she was still inside of Abby. Now here she is out in the world -- a living, breathing, crying baby. 

Of course, she's not crying now. She's happily suckling at her mother's breast, no doubt feeling a sense of comfort being so close to her, wrapped protectively in Abby's arms. And now, finally, Meg's eyes seem to be drifting shut. I watch as they slowly and steadily close, her long curved lashes resting against her soft little cheek. She's not fighting sleep anymore. There's no coaxing to be done. Here, nestled in Abby's arms, she's drifting off into a peaceful sleep. Abby's already there, apparently. So I turn out the light and settle down next to my family, draping my arm over Abby, my hand coming to rest lightly on Meg's back. I close my eyes, preparing to join my girls in a contented sleep, thinking that even though the sun's not up yet, this is already the best birthday I've ever had.


	15. A Lucky Man

__

Title: This Thing About Birthdays

Author: Andrea

Rating: R. This would be a good time to reiterate that I really do mean R. For, you know, mature themes and sexual content. So please don't read it if you don't care for that sort of thing or if you (or someone else in the room) is too young to be reading R-rated material. 

Summary: It's Carter's birthday and he's happily celebrating with Abby and their newborn daughter, Meg. 

Author's Note: Thanks, COURTNEY.

*~*~*~* 

This Thing About Birthdays

Chapter 15: A Lucky Man

"What are you doing here?" I hear Abby ask. Well, I usually sleep here. It is my bed. 

"Huh? How did you get here? I know you didn't crawl here, so I guess your daddy brought you here. But I don't remember." Oh, I guess she's talking to Meg. The lilt in her voice really should have tipped me off. 

I open my eyes slowly and realize that sometime in my sleep, I must have rolled away from Abby and the baby since I'm now sprawled out on my stomach, hugging the pillow under my head. I almost turn over to face them, but I change my mind and decide to just lie quietly for a moment, eavesdropping a bit. I can't help it, I love to listen to Abby cooing at Meg. Especially when she doesn't know I'm listening. 

"Good morning, sunshine," she's saying now in a soft, cheerful voice. Higher pitched and more sing-song than her usual voice … this is her mommy voice, reserved for baby talk. "Did you get some sleep? I guess so because you seem pretty happy. Mommy got some sleep, so Mommy's pretty happy. How are you, huh? How's my girl? Did you have a good time with Daddy last night? I hope you didn't give him too much trouble. Of course, I hope you didn't go too easy on him either … or his head will swell up, and I'll never hear the end of it. We can't have his ego inflating, that's not good for anybody." I can't help but smile. She does this sometimes -- slips out of baby talk mid-sentence and starts talking to Meg as if she were a contemporary of hers rather than her newborn baby. It always amuses me. 

"It's Daddy's birthday today, you know. Our friends are coming over to celebrate. Yeah, you'll get to see them all again. And they'll be so excited to see you. We're gonna get you all dressed up. I know just what to put you in. That pretty pink dress with the little flowers on it. Your daddy bought that for you before you were even born. He was that sure you were a girl. And look -- he was right. So you'll wear your pink dress and maybe your little bonnet with the pink flowers, and you'll look absolutely adorable. But what's Mommy gonna wear? That's gonna be a tough one." 

"No, it won't," I say, rolling over and sitting up, "You'll look gorgeous no matter what you wear." 

Abby gives me a little eye roll before turning back to Meg. "Daddy's been spying on us. Pretending to be asleep. So now he's just trying to butter us up." Abby's sitting up in bed, too, holding Meg out in front of her while she conducts this conversation with her. 

"I am not … I meant that. You'll look great. You do look great." 

"Uhn. I don't know about that. I have no idea what I'm gonna wear for your party. And I can't possibly look great now. I'm sure my hair is scary, and I'm sitting here in a rumpled nightshirt … that's half unbuttoned. I'm such a mess. Was I like this when you found us in the nursery? I know I was kinda out of it, but I didn't think I was _that_ out of it."

"Nope. You were buttoned up then. This happened later." 

"I don't remember. I don't remember feeding her after I came to bed."

"That's not surprising, Ab. You were pretty much dead to the world. I brought Meg in here screaming, and you didn't even stir."

"Really? She was crying, and I didn't wake up?" Uh-oh. Abby sounds unduly upset about this, her voice wavering a little. 

"Don't worry, sweetie. I think you were just that exhausted." 

"Yeah, but she was crying. She was hungry, right? Probably starving. Poor thing. Some mother I am, sleeping right through my starving baby's screams." 

"Oh, Abby … it wasn't like that. She was just a bit fussy. And you were tired. It turned out fine. I helped you out a little -- with the unbuttoning and all. But the minute Meg was in your arms, you took over. Even sleeping, you did everything just right. You're a natural." And she is. There's no doubt in my mind. Every time I watch her with Meg, I realize all over again just how well motherhood suits Abby.

"But I should have woken up."

"Abby …"

"I'm sorry, pumpkin," Abby says, cradling Meg close to her. "I'm sorry you were hungry, and I didn't wake up." She seems really upset about this, almost tearing up as she cuddles Meg. 

"She's fine, Abby. No harm done."

"But what if you hadn't been here? My God, she might have cried for hours while her horrible mother just slept through the whole thing." 

"That wouldn't happen, Ab. And you're _not _a horrible mother. First off, if I hadn't been here, you probably would have had her sleeping in your arms all along. Secondly, you turned her over to me so … your brain knew that it wasn't your watch and finally let you get some of that deep sleep that you've been needing." I wrap my arm around her and pull her against me, leaning us back against the pillows and headboard. "You're a great mom, Abby. No, you're a fantastic mom. Just look at her. She's perfect -- healthy, happy, beautiful. And that's all because of you." 

"I just … I just want to always be there for her. I don't want to ever _not_ be there when she needs me. I don't ever want her to have to _wonder_ if I'll be there. It's the one thing every kid should be able to count on … her mom being there when she needs her." 

"And you will be. You are already. You're always there when Meg needs you, sometimes before she even knows that she needs you. And you were there last night, you gave Meg just what she wanted then." I kiss the top of Abby's head, trying to reassure her. "You just weren't exactly aware of what you were doing. But you did it all just right, anyway. You're just _that_ in tune to her. Your maternal instincts are just _that _strong."

"Yeah, but …" 

"No, 'buts.' Meg's fine. It was _my_ job to take care of her while you got some much-needed rest. There's nothing wrong with getting some sleep. You have to … so that you can be the kind of mom you want to be. Meg's much better off with a happy, well-rested mommy than a stressed-out, exhausted mommy."

"I know … but …" 

"And there's nothing wrong with letting me take a turn now and then so that you can get some rest. Meg's in good hands, and I love spending the time with her. I hated having to wake you; I would have fed her if I could have, but try as she might, it just wouldn't work. Would it, Meggie?" I ask, reaching out to stroke Meg's soft cheek as she lies happily in her mother's arms. 

As if on cue, Meg starts fussing a bit. Maybe my rubbing her cheek inspired some sort of reflex or maybe she just happened to realize she's hungry. But suddenly she's complaining, turning her head toward Abby, opening and closing her mouth in a familiar gesture. I watch, still somewhat in awe, as Abby easily settles into nursing the baby as if she's been doing this forever instead of a little over a week. 

"I can't believe how good you are at that. You make it look so easy." 

"Well, it's not that complicated. I mean, it is a natural thing." 

"Yeah, but you read the same baby books I did … and they all talked about all the difficulties of breastfeeding, but you don't seem to have any of those problems. It's just come … well, naturally to you. Like you said. But it doesn't work that way for everyone, you know."

She shrugs. "I'm just lucky, I guess. Or all those years in OB teaching other women how to do it paid off." 

"Or maybe you were just always meant to do this."

"Do what? Breastfeed?"

"Be a mother. Seems like you were born to be a mother, the way it's all come so easy to you." 

"It's not always easy." She says, but she's looking down at Meggie, smiling softly while gently smoothing back her hair.

"I know that. But I just mean … you seem so comfortable with it. So good at it. Half the time I have no idea what to do, but you always seem to know."

"No, I don't. I just make it up as I go along."

"Yeah, but you have no problem just making it up as you go along. It just seems to come to you instinctually. Those maternal instincts again." 

"I guess," she says with another shrug, smiling down at Meg who is contentedly nursing at her breast. 

"I have to admit," I tell Abby who is still in my arms, leaning back against my chest, "Watching you feed her … well, I'm kinda jealous." 

"Of Meg?" Abby asks with a giggle.

"No … well, maybe a little," I say, chuckling, "But really … I'm jealous of you. You know, because you get to be the one who feeds her."

"Yeah, lucky me." Abby says. But she can't quite pull off the sarcasm this time. She's too busy grinning at Meg. 

"You _are_ lucky … that you have the privilege of being the one to feed her. Give her all the nourishment she needs. You get to be close to her in a way that I'll never be able to." 

"Yeah, I know," she says, making silly little faces at Meg who is staring up at her with complete concentration, captivated by her mother, even as she nurses. And Abby's every bit as enthralled with Meg, never breaking their eye contact, even as she talks to me. "It is a privilege. Even if it can sometimes be a little bit … exhausting."

"I wish I could help," I tell her, meaning that sincerely. "If only I could lactate." 

"Well, I can't do anything about the fact that you don't lactate … but in a couple weeks, you can help with the feedings."

"Give her a bottle?" 

"Sure. The books all say to wait at least three or four weeks before you introduce bottles. But I want to start soon so she'll get comfortable with the bottle. As much as I love nursing her, believe me, it'll be great to let someone else take care of a feeding now and then." 

"Someone … like me?"

"Well, I wasn't expecting to bus in volunteers." 

"I'll volunteer. I can't wait to get a chance to be the one to feed her." And I mean it. I would love to be able to feel like I was really doing something essential for Meg. It'll never be on the same scale that it is with Abby … but at least I'll feel like I'm contributing. And Meg will bond with me too … food is love, right? At least to a newborn. So if I get to feed her, maybe she'll know how much I love her.

"I'm sure _you _can't wait," Abby says. "Of course, you don't have to figure out the breast pump. Which, by the way, still kinda scares me." 

"Well, I have no doubt that you'll be able to figure that out with as much ease as you've figured out the rest of this mommy thing."

"Ha. Easy for you to say. It's not your titties getting stuck in some scary contraption."

"Abby!" 

"What?" 

"Your … language? Do you really think you should use that word around the baby?" 

"Contraption?"

"No! Titties!" 

"Gotcha," she says, referring to the fact that once again she tricked me into saying the taboo word. "That gets you every time," she dissolves into a fit of giggle, shaking her head at Meg over, I can only assume, my incredible lameness. 

"You think this is funny?"

"Kinda, yeah. I never knew you were such a prude."

"I'm not a prude." 

"Well, I certainly didn't think so … I mean, not when you threw me down on that gurney in that trauma room and --"

"Abby! Jesus, you're holding our baby daughter in your arms."

"Right, and I must have forgotten about how she's the result of an immaculate conception and all. Why the hell do you think she's here? Because we had sex." 

"Would you stop it?" 

"I can't say S-E-X in front of the baby, either? You know what, Meg? I think your daddy is C-R-A-Z-Y."

"That's nice, Abby. Just insult me on my birthday." But my tone is playful, in keeping with the bantering.

"I'm sorry," Abby says, looking away from Meg and up at me. "Happy Birthday." She gives me a little kiss on the lips before laying her head back against my shoulder. She sighs in my arms, a happy contented sigh. And when I look over at her, I see her eyes are closed, and a peaceful smile turns up the corners of her mouth. For a while all is quiet except for the little sucking and swallowing noises Meg makes as she eats. I'm content to just watch, marveling at the beauty of the moment. Just watching Abby and Meg together is enough to fill me with pride, happiness, gratitude. And to have my girls here in my arms … well, I couldn't think of a better way to start my birthday. 

"Hey," Abby says, lifting her head off my shoulder. "Don't fall asleep." 

I almost answer her before I realize that she's not talking to me. She's talking to the baby, of course, and pulling one of Meg's little legs out of her nightgown, shaking it a little bit then tickling her foot. Meg's eyes open up, and she suddenly starts nursing with more energy. 

"There, that's better." Abby smiles down at her, still playing with the baby's tiny toes. 

"Why'd you wake her up?" I ask.

"Because if she falls asleep in the middle of her feedings, she just wants to eat again before I know it. And I already feel like she's eating every hour on the hour. So I'd rather she fill up all at once and give me at least a couple hours in between feedings."

"What? You _don't_ want to sit around nursing the baby all day?" I ask in a playful tone.

"I already do. But I'd rather not do it continuously. It's nice to do something else once in a while. You know … eat … shower." 

"Highly overrated." 

"What? Eating or showering?" 

"Both?" 

"Yeah, what was the last meal you missed?"

"Well, I haven't had breakfast, yet. I mean, it _is_ my birthday. I would have thought that breakfast in bed wouldn't be too much to ask." I give Abby a grin at the suggestion that she should have run downstairs and whipped up a gourmet breakfast in honor of my birthday. 

"Fat chance, buddy. The only one I'm making breakfast in bed for these days is Meg. Of course, that's only because I don't actually have to get out of bed to do it." 

"Don't let her fool you, Meg. She'd bring you breakfast in bed even if she did have to get up. For you, she'd get up at any hour of the day or night."

"Unlike your poor, neglected father," Abby tells Meg, who has momentarily stopped nursing. Abby takes the opportunity to rearrange Meg, holding her upright, obviously intending to burp her. 

"Here, let me do that." I reach for Meg and lift her tiny form off her mother's chest. Meg's all curled up with her little legs pulled up to her chest, her arms held snug alongside her face. The way her back naturally curves, curling her into a little ball, makes her look like a little bean and inspires me to give her a new pet name. 

"Hi, jelly bean," I say, cuddling her to my chest. "Good morning." I pat her back gently, but firmly and soon my sweet little angel produces a nice big burp. "Oh, that was a good one. Just like last night. I think I'm getting good at this part," I tell Abby. 

"Congratulations. I guess that makes you the burp king." 

"What can I say? It's a great honor."

"Oh, I'm sure it is. Now can I have my baby back?"

"No, it's my birthday, and _I _want to hold _my_ baby."

"Well, _my_ baby isn't done with her feeding yet. We've got another side to go. So unless you've suddenly worked out that lactating thing, you better give her back."

"She doesn't look hungry to me. Don't you think she had enough before?"

"I don't know … maybe. But it never hurts to try." I guess there's no arguing with that logic. I hand over Meg and watch as Abby once again shows her superiority when it comes to knowing what Meg needs. The baby doesn't hesitate to return to nursing, quite enthusiastically, in fact, as if she hadn't eaten in hours. It isn't long, though, before Meg starts to drift off again, her eyes getting heavy and finally falling closed. This time, Abby makes no move to wake her. 

"How come you're not waking her up?" I ask in a whisper.

"Because I think she's had enough."

"How did you know she hadn't had enough last time?"

"Because she woke up and ate some more."

"So how do you know she wouldn't wake up and eat more now?"

"I don't. Maybe she would. But it seems like she probably got several ounces by now … so if she's tired, I'm gonna let her sleep. Besides, I think I have to replenish the supply, she's done some serious damage." 

"But she's still nursing," I say watching the movements of Meg's little jaw against Abby's skin. 

"Well … she still sucking, but she's not getting much milk. It's just that reflex to suck so she's really just using me like a pacifier. Speaking of which …" She nods toward the nightstand on my side where Meg's tiny pink and white pacifier rests. I pass it to Abby and watch as she executes a quick exchange of the breast for the binky, Meg only protesting briefly. 

"I think she's out for a while," Abby says as she slips out of bed with the baby in her arms. I assume she'll put Meg in the bassinet at the foot of our bed, but instead she heads out of our room and turns to go into the nursery. Within moments, Abby returns alone and crawls back into bed, wrapping her arms around me and cuddling close. 

"How come you put her in the nursery?" I ask. 

"Well, we did spend all that time choosing and assembling the crib, it only seems right she should use it once in a while. But God, she looks so tiny when she's in there. She didn't seem to mind, though; she didn't even stir when I laid her down." 

"Well, that's good. But you could have put her in the bassinet, you know."

"I know … but I thought it might be nice for us to have some time alone. Without the baby in the room. Between first being pregnant and then usually having a newborn in between us, it's been a while since I've been able to curl up with you like this." 

And by 'this' she means using me as a full body pillow. I'm lying on my back and she's lying on top of me, her arms wrapped around my waist, her head resting on my chest. Not that I'm complaining. I like being her pillow. And she's right, it's been a while since we've been able to enjoy this particular configuration. I wrap my arms tightly around her and take a deep breath, breathing in the scent of her. 

"You smell good," I tell her.

"I do? What do I smell like?" 

"Well …" I hesitate a moment, not sure if she would consider the truth a compliment, "You smell like … the baby." 

"The baby?" 

"Yeah. You both smell all powdery and milky and sweet. It's nice."

"Well, I'm glad you like it. I have a feeling I'll smell this way for quite some time." 

She snuggles closer against me, and for a while we stay that way, just enjoying our moment of alone time. I'm just glad to have her this close to me. I'm not really expecting anything more so I'm a little surprised when Abby suddenly changes the whole tone of this little encounter. She shifts positions, pushing herself up on her arms and shifting her weight forward, brining us face-to-face. I recognize the naughty glint in her eye, and my suspicions are confirmed when she leans down to capture my lips in what turns into a long, sultry kiss. 

"Abby …" I say, with a disappointed but warning tone, as soon as we pull apart.

"What?"

"You know what. I know what you're thinking. But you know we can't. I mean, I know people cheat all the time … but it's only been ten days."

She narrows her eyes and gives me a funny look. What? Did I misinterpret her intentions? "Just because we can't _go all the way_," Abby says, using an exaggerated tone for that particular phrase, "Doesn't mean we can't … fool around." 

Hmm … well, technically, I guess that's true. And I certainly do enjoy _fooling around_ … but these days, I tend to think of it as _foreplay_. Which is why I'm a bit hesitant to start anything. Of course, that hesitancy starts to disappear when I notice that Abby is now sitting up on her knees next to me, slowly undoing the buttons on her nightshirt. She watches me watching her as she slips the garment off, leaving her in nothing but a pair of cotton panties. I reach out and gently touch her bare stomach, no longer round and firm with pregnancy, but now flat and soft.

"I've got a little weight to lose," she says, looking down at my hand on her belly. But I'm glad to see that she really doesn't seem too self-conscious about how her body looks. And she's got no reason to worry about it. She looks great. She would look great by any standards, but when you consider she just had a baby … well, it's pretty remarkable.

"No," I tell her. "You look amazing. I was just thinking that the last time I rubbed your belly like this it was all full of Meg." Meg. Who's no longer inside Abby, but instead is sleeping in the room next door. "It's still unbelievable."

"I know. It's crazy. Sometimes I don't know what to expect when I look in the mirror." While I've been busy caressing her stomach and running my hand lightly up and down her side, she's reached up and slipped one of her hands underneath my t-shirt. 

"It must be hard getting used to all these changes," I say as I struggle to sit up, helping Abby to pull my shirt over my head. 

"Sometimes," she says, laying her bare chest down on mine, our faces close together, allowing me to lift my head up and kiss her. It doesn't take much encouragement to get her to part her lips, letting my tongue make a swift entrance into her welcoming mouth. 

I roll us over, putting Abby under me. In need of oxygen, I pull away from the kiss, but immediately drop my head to her shoulder, kissing along towards her neck. I nibble my way down her neck and across her chest, letting my hands slip up either side of her body, enjoying the feel of her bare skin. My hands and lips are moving toward the same destination when suddenly I remember, and stop cold. 

"It's okay," Abby says, "You can touch them … if you want to. They won't explode or anything."

Well, no, I didn't think so. It's just that … somehow, it doesn't seem quite right. I can't help but look at Abby's breasts in a different light these days. They're Meg's now.

As if reading my mind, Abby says, "Don't worry, she won't mind sharing." 

No, I don't suppose so. And as long as Abby is comfortable with it … who am I to protest? Besides, Abby will probably be nursing for a while, and chances are I'm gonna want to touch her boobs again sometime before she weans the baby. I should just be glad that she's willing to let me.

So I tentatively reach out one finger and trace around the outer contours of one fleshy orb. Abby sighs happily, her hand resting on the top of my head, fingers running through my hair. She pushes my head down toward her chest, and I let my lips gently explore the furrow in between her breasts before moving on to the swells of flesh. 

I let my hand cover one breast completely and Abby arches her back against me. When I gently massage her flesh, she moans quietly. I guess I don't have to worry about hurting her, she seems to be enjoying this as much as she ever did. Maybe even more so. The nipple under my palm is firm and with my manipulations seems to be contracting even further. It also seems to be leaking slightly, as I can feel some dampness on my hand. Looking at the one in front of me, I see it's responding similarly. There's not a lot of liquid escaping, just tiny droplets here and there. I don't know what I expected, maybe that milk would shoot out like a fountain. This is much more … manageable. Still, it's a little strange. 

Abby, however, doesn't seem to be the least bit concerned as she firmly holds my head against her chest as she arches her body up against mine. I'm a little reluctant, but finally let my mouth cover the pink center of her breast and the firm peak at its heart. Her warm skin beneath my tongue feels wonderful, as always, but now there is a subtle, but definite, sweet and … well, milky taste. I move my hand and mouth in concert with each other for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of Abby skin, and loving the sounds of her soft moans and sighs. I continue my manipulations until suddenly I feel Abby stiffen in my arms even as her milk runs more freely. I immediately stop my ministrations fearing I've hurt her, but then I feel her shudder against me. I look up and see a satisfied little smile on Abby's lips. I move up to join her on the pillow, laying my head down next to her, letting my hand trail lazily up her side. 

"Is that supposed to happen?" I ask her when her eyes drift open. 

"Well, they are awfully sensitive these days." 

"That's not what I meant. I meant you just had a baby, should you really be … you know." 

"It was just a little one. Nice all the same, though." Her hand is brushing up my arm, over my shoulder and then down my back. 

"Still …" 

"Don't worry about it. This isn't the first time it's happened." 

"What?" 

"Yeah … well …" She looks a little embarrassed as she continues, "It's a perfectly normal thing that can happen when you're breastfeeding. Just an involuntary response to the … stimulation. And the other night … well, I was half awake, half dreaming … one of _those_ dreams. You know. And between that and the breastfeeding … and having you wrapped all around me and being so relaxed and kind of out of it … well, it just kinda happened. I mean, not a ripping the sheets, screaming orgasm … just a nice gentle one. And I haven't experienced any ill effects so I'm sure it's not a problem." She shrugs.

"So this was a little one, huh? I never realized these things had a grade. I always thought it was kinda pass/fail."

"Oh, they do. Believe me." The hand that was on my back drifts a little lower, and then Abby leans her head forward to kiss my neck, giving my butt a little squeeze through my boxers before she looks up at me and says, "And I think it's your turn to enjoy a grade A, sheet-ripping, screaming …"

"Abby …"

"What?" 

"You don't have to." 

"Have to? I want to. And it _is_ your birthday." 

Her hand slips around to the front of my boxers, squeezing the bulge that strains against the material. As soon as Abby crawled into bed and curled up with me, pressing her body tight against mine, there was stirring in my groin, and it's grown steadily with all our 'fooling around.' Just the light touch of her hand is enough to make me want to explode. The kisses that she's using to blaze a trail down a my chest are also helping to fan the flames. Her body slips further down mine as her mouth works its way down my chest and across my stomach. While her tongue trails lazily around my belly button, her fingers slip along the waistband of my boxers, pushing them over my hips and finally freeing me from my restraints. 

My eyes close and my head falls back as I feel her hands on me, her fingers touching, caressing, exploring the contours. My hardness swells in her hand, twitching as if with a life of its own. I open my eyes to look down at her and see that she seems to be enjoying herself, gazing down at me, perhaps relishing in the power that she holds over me at the moment. I find myself mumbling her name and moaning as her movements become more purposeful. She begins stroking rhythmically, first slowly, but then with an increasing speed. Her hand tightens around my muscle at the base, and I let my eyes close once again in anticipation of what will come next. 

I feel the soft, wet, warmth of her lips begin to surround me, and it's all I can do to keep from thrusting my hips up toward her. I try to relax and enjoy the moment. I love the feel of her bathing me in soft kisses, not missing a single inch of my most sensitive flesh. Her tongue licks and swirls, driving me insane. I moan her name and she sighs, her breath warm against my skin. And then I feel her lips engulf me once again and my eyes pop open. I look down and see her looking back at me, her eyes twinkling. My hands are in her hair, holding her steady, where I need her to stay. Her hand grips me tightly, moving quickly along the taut muscle, her mouth working in harmony with the movements of her hands. Her movements become faster, more frantic, and my body responds in kind. Soon the need for release is overwhelming. I lose control and my hips lift off the bed, pushing toward the warm depths of Abby's mouth. And then the sensations wash over me, and I call out her name at the moment of sweet release. I let my eyes fall shut once more as I collapse, giving over absolutely to the feelings flooding my body. Abby is still at work between my legs, bringing me to total completion. Waiting for my climax to fully subside, I keep my eyes closed, my hands gently running through Abby's hair, just enjoying the relaxation and satisfaction of the moment.

After a minute, Abby shifts positions, and I somehow muster enough strength to look down at her. Her chin is resting my stomach, and she's gazing up at me with a self-satisfied smile smirk on her face. 

"Happy birthday," she says, with a waggle of her eyebrows. 

"Yeah, I'll say." I croak out. 

She laughs and turns her head to the side, resting her cheek against my stomach. We stay like this for a few moments. I don't know what she's thinking, but about all I can think is 'Damn, I'm a lucky man.' 

"I love you." I finally say, for lack of a better way to tell her how grateful I am for her. 

"I know," she says simply. And then, "I love you, too." She turns her head and kisses my belly. Then looks up at me again. "I'm gonna go take a shower." 

I just nod, watching as she extricates herself from me gracefully and then moves off to the bathroom. For a few moments, I lie quietly … so calm and peaceful that I could fall asleep just listening to Abby as she putters in the bathroom, finally getting in the shower and starting to sing quietly. She thinks I can't hear her out here, and I've done nothing to dispel that myth since I kind of enjoy these private concerts. After a few minutes, though, I realize that this solo has become a duet. Listening closely, I hear Meg crying rather lustily in the next room. I get up and start toward the nursery, remember that I'm naked, and turn around to get my boxers, figuring that for baby care duties, I should probably at least be wearing underwear. 

I cross Meg's room to her crib and find her lying there red-faced and screaming. 

"Oh, Meg, it's okay," I croon at her, "Daddy's here." I lift her into my arms and cuddle her close against me. I scoop her pacifier out of the crib and pop it into her mouth, holding it in with one hand. I start walking around the room with a little rhythmic bounce in my step. "Shh, sweetie … it's okay. You're okay now. Daddy's here. I've got ya." She quiets down pretty quickly. She doesn't go back to sleep, but she does stop crying … for the most part. Once my ears are no longer being assaulted, my nose realizes what should have been obvious from the moment I walked in the room. Somebody needs a diaper change. 

"Should we change your diaper, Meggie?" I ask as I lie her down on the changing table gently. I'm prepared for her to start crying again, but she seems content to work on her pacifier while I inspect the diaper situation. And when I pull up her little nightgown, I discover a code brown -- some serious diaper leakage. Yuck. That's a mess. And it smells bad too. It's a wonder that it's not all over me. 

Okay, this poses a bit of a problem … how I am I supposed to get this gown off over her head when it's covered in poop? Abby would undoubtedly have some trick up her sleeve. Or she'd just _make something up_ … but I don't seem to possess that same ability. So instead I just stare at my poopy baby for a minute, hoping inspiration will strike. Well, there's a couple buttons on this thing, under her chin. I unbutton those and then pull her arms out of the sleeves. I think that maybe I can just slide the whole thing down rather than lifting it over her head. 

A good theory, I suppose, but as soon as I pull one arm through the neck, I realize it'll never work. The neck isn't wide enough to get both her arms through. This seems like a silly way to manufacture a newborn's clothes. Why should everything have to go over her head? Why aren't there snaps all the way up one side for this sort of circumstance? Who makes these things, anyway? Okay, okay. I need a new plan. I slip Meg's arm back through the neck opening. She's being incredibly patient with me, just calmly regarding me while I twist and bend her this way and that. 

"Okay, Meg … I guess we have to pull this thing over your head. So … uh … close your eyes and hold your breath." 

I roll the material of Meg's gown over onto itself, hoping to keep clean side against her. I manage to lift it over her head without too much trouble. And I don't see any poop in the baby's hair so I'll consider it a success. Of course, now I have to get the onesie off. And it's even messier than the gown. But I figure using the same technique ought to work. It works fine until I'm trying to pull the garment over Meg's head and this time it doesn't slip off so easily. Meg ends up with her face covered and that seems to make her really mad. She spits out the pacifier and starts howling. I manage to get her onesie off and then attempt to put the nuk back in her mouth which makes her that much angrier. Okay, well … she's gonna start crying when I take off the diaper, anyway. Best to just get it over with. 

"Sorry, kiddo, but I gotta do it." I open up the box of wipes, conveniently located in the wipe-warmer on the top of the changing table. I arm myself with several and first clean off Meg's legs and back while her screams accompany me. And there's something about the shrill pitch of her newborn cry that sets me on edge, making it that much harder to accomplish the task at hand. I finally manage to get her out of the dirty diaper and into the new one, carefully fitting the little cut out notch around her belly button. And then I remember that I have to clean off around her navel and what's left of her umbilical cord. Naturally, SuperMom has the cotton balls and alcohol right here, so it's a pretty simple task. At least at first. 

"Uh-oh," I say, looking at a now-quiet Meg who has somehow managed to get her fist in her mouth and so is happily sucking on her fingers. 

"Abby!" I call. I can hear her moving around in the bedroom now, so I know she'll hear me. And sure enough, I hear something clatter to the floor, and Abby running across the room. Probably in a panic. Did I sound panicky? 

"What?" She asks, appearing in the door way, wearing her robe. "What's wrong?" She starts across the room immediately. 

"I broke the baby," I tell her in my best forlorn voice, holding up the dried-up piece of Meg's umbilical cord that fell off in my hand as I tried to clean it. 

Abby squints in my direction, probably trying to see what exactly I'm showing her. Then she smiles when she gets close enough to see what it is. "Oh … her cord fell off." 

"Yep. I didn't mean to do it." 

"Well, these things happen. Don't beat yourself up too much." She smiles down at Meg, running her hand over Meg's belly, now without the somewhat nasty looking remnant of the umbilical cord. "It's been about to fall off for the past couple days, hasn't it, Meggie? Daddy just got to do the honors, huh? And now … you can have a real bath … yes, you can," Abby coos at the baby as she reaches down to pick her up. 

While Abby talks to Meg, I clean up the mess that's left on the changing table, wrapping up the dirty diaper and putting it in the diaper pail. The soiled clothes I'll drop in the laundry room across the way when I leave the room. That just leaves one little matter.

"You want this?" I ask Abby, proffering the little piece of cord. 

"What would I want that for?" Abby asks as she shifts the baby onto her shoulder. I watch as Meg nuzzles her tiny head against her mother's neck. She doesn't do that for me. If I hold Meg against my shoulder, she tries to suck on the collar of my shirt. If Abby holds Meg against her shoulder, Meg tries to burrow into her. A mommy's girl already. 

"Just throw it away," Abby's saying. 

"Throw it away?" It seems like something too important to just throw away. It is, after all, the last tangible piece of the physical connection that Abby and Meg once shared. Of course, there's plenty of tangible evidence of that connection to be found in just looking at them together. This moment being a prime example. Abby's changed Meg's position again, this time holding her upright against her own chest, adjusting her robe so that it wraps around both of them. Meg's all tucked in to the warm terry cloth with just her little head poking out at the V where the two sides of the robe meet, her cheek resting against Abby's chest. 

"What?" Abby says, catching the way I'm looking at her. 

"That's a good look for you. But I didn't know you were going to wear our baby as an accessory." 

"She was getting cold. Besides, the skin-to-skin contact is good for her." How did she know she was getting cold? And she needs skin-to-skin contact? I don't know where she gets some of this stuff. Or how she knows it. But it always amazes me … she just seems to know what's good for the baby. She just seems to know … Meg.

"You really want me to throw this away?" I ask, a bit wistfully. 

"Well, what else do you think we should do with it? Save it in her baby book next to a lock of her hair?" 

"Well …"

"I'm not saving that thing … it's all icky looking. It would be like saving a used band-aid or a scab or that dirty diaper over there. Speaking of which, what happened in here?" 

"Poop explosion." 

"Oh," Abby says knowingly, having been through a few of these herself. "I hate when that happens." 

"Yeah, but I'll bet you hate it a lot more when you have to clean it up." 

"Well …" She shrugs. Can't say as I blame her, I feel the same way. Although I don't really mind taking care of Meg's messes … because it's Meg. 

"Do you wanna take a bath?" 

"Well, yeah … I was just thinking I'd go take a shower." The words are already out of my mouth when I realize … yet again, that she's _not talking to me_. "Oh, you mean Meg … yeah." 

"Yeah, I mean Meg. Now that her cord is gone, we can try out her little tub." With Meg's umbilical cord still in place, we've stuck to just sponge baths, usually on the changing the table or in our bathroom, dabbing at one part of her body at a time. But Abby's right … now we can try out the little infant tub on the counter in Meg's bathroom. 

"You want to do it right now?" I ask. 

"Actually, believe it or not, she's making that 'feed me' face … again. So maybe we're gonna do that first." Sure enough, Meg's complaining a bit and restlessly moving her head back and forth against Abby's chest.

"What do you mean, 'believe it or not' … it _has_ been all of an hour. A little more even." 

"Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking." Abby says sarcastically, but she bends her head down and kisses the top of Meg's head affectionately. "So why don't you go take your shower and when you get back, we'll give her her first bath." 

"You'll wait for me?" 

"Of course."

"Good. Because … I really wouldn't want to miss it."

"And I wouldn't want you to miss it. So go on … go take your shower. We'll be right here." Abby settles into the rocker with Meg, preparing to feed her. 

So I head off to take a shower, briefly leaving my family behind, but thinking about them all the while. And all I can think, yet again this morning, is that I really am a lucky man. 


	16. Firsts

Title: This Thing About Birthdays

Author: Andrea

Rating: R

Summary: It's Carter's birthday. The first one since Baby Meg joined the family.

Author's Note: Here's the latest installment. Thanks to LISA, COURTNEY, BETH and my newest editor, HEATHER. I hope everyone enjoys the latest fuzzfest … and remember, if you love the story ...well, I love a review.

* * *

**This Thing About Birthdays**

Chapter 16: Firsts

The face of an angel. My daughter has the face of an angel. My daughter. I still can't get used to that. But then, she is only ten days old. Hard for me to imagine that it's only been a little over a week since she was born. Hasn't she always been here with us? Haven't I always spent hours out of every day in this rocking chair, cuddling this sweet, perfect newborn as she suckles at my breast? Haven't I always been Meg's mommy?

"Hi, pumpkin," I coo at her in my best baby-talk voice. I run my hand over her soft curls and smile down at her as she looks up at me, trying to focus her gaze. "We've got a big day today, don't we? Yeah. Your first bath, your first party. And if we can talk Daddy into it, your first outing. What do you think? Would you like to get out of the house for once? I know I would. We just have to convince your daddy. Because if _he _had _his _way, we'd never leave your cute little nursery. Not that I don't love this room, especially now that it looks like a baby girl lives here, but who wants to stare at the same four walls every day, right? Look who I'm asking … up until last week you stared at the same womb every day so what do you know about cabin fever?" Meg just regards me calmly, not taking a break from her rhythmic sucking and swallowing, and apparently not paying any attention to her mother's ramblings.

"What do you think about your room, Meggie?" I ask, changing tacks as if that might elicit a response from my newborn baby. Not surprisingly, she doesn't have much to say about the state of her room, but glancing around, I realize once again how much I love it. I remember the night before Meg was born -- just a little more than a week ago -- when I had a minor meltdown looking at the plain, unfinished nursery. I think John must have tipped off Maggie because by the time we brought Meg home to her new room, it was completely finished. While John and I were camped out at the hospital with our new arrival, Mom and Eric took on the task of finishing up the nursery. By the time Meg and I came home, the pink and yellow patchwork bedding was on the crib. The pink accessories like the lampshades, curtains, changing pad cover, and rocking chair cushions were in place. A bookcase and the knobs of the dresser had been painted pink. A rag rug of various pinks with yellow accents was on the floor. And the finishing touch to the room was the paintings on the walls done by Maggie. So now the yellow walls have butterflies and flowers in shades of pink adorning them here and there. With all the pink stuffed animals, pink clothes and pink blankets displayed around the room there's really no question that this room belongs to a little girl. And it's anything but plain these days. The first time I saw it in its finished state I liked it so much that I burst into tears. Of course, I'd just had a baby two days earlier and pretty much everything was making me burst into tears. But that my mom and brother had spent all that time to make Meggie's room perfect meant a lot to me.

"Grandma did a good job, didn't she, pumpkin?" I coo at Meg who pays no attention to my prattling. Instead she pulls away from me, starting to fuss. "What? What's wrong? Do you need to burp?" I ask in baby-talk, shifting her up onto my shoulder and patting her back. She's still fussing, and I'm still trying to coax out a burp when her daddy walks into the room.

"What's wrong?" he asks me, nodding toward a whimpering Meg.

"She needs to burp. I think."

"Oh. Here. Let me." He takes her off my shoulder, settling her against his own and rubbing her back vigorously. Within moments, he's managed to draw out a nice big burp from our sweet little baby.

"I guess you really are the burp king," I say to him as I unfold myself from the rocking chair and smooth down Meg's hair, kissing her soft curls.

"Is she done eating?"

I nod. "For now anyway … of course, ten minutes from now …" I look at Meg affectionately and give her a little smile. "You'll probably be hungry again, right sweetie?"

"So can we give her a bath now?" Carter asks, all full of giddy excitement. If he was a puppy, he'd be wagging his tail in anticipation. "I've got the cameras," he says rather unnecessarily, as he's pointing to the video camera and the regular camera that he's set on the top of the baby's dresser.

"Sure. But I have to warn you … she may not like it."

"Why wouldn't she like it?"

"Well, you know how she screams when we change her diaper. She might not be thrilled to be naked. And she may not be thrilled to get lowered into a tub full of water."

"Nah, she's gonna love it. I'll bet she's a real water baby."

"You bet? Seriously?" I give him a sly little smile. "Would you care to make a wager?"

"Like what?"

"Well, I think Meg's gonna cry when we give her her first bath. You think she's gonna love it. So how about whoever is wrong does diaper duty for the rest of the day?"

"But it's my birthday."

"Yeah … but if you really think she's gonna love her bath, then so what? You'll win and you won't have to change a single diaper on your birthday."

"Too late."

"Okay," I concede, "You won't have to change any more diapers on your birthday."

"Well that sounds pretty good. But since it is my birthday, shouldn't that be the kind of thing you do for me? You know, as a gift?"

"A gift?" I ask. "You were expecting a gift? Besides the one I already gave you?"

"Oh, yeah," he says with a grin. "That was a pretty good gift." By the look on his face, I know what he's thinking about.

I roll my eyes and give him a swat on the arm. "Not _that_."

"Oh. Then what gift are you talking about?" He seems a bit confused.

I give him a look, staring at the little half-naked bundle of joy in his arms. "Um … we call her Meg. Remember?"

"Oh," he says with a laugh, turning to smile at Meg as he jiggles her on his shoulder. "Yeah, I guess Meg was a pretty good gift."

"You better believe it. I gave you a baby … that's enough."

"Yeah, but your timing was sort of off. If you wanted her to be a birthday gift, you should have waited a while longer."

"Hey, I didn't have anything to do with it. Talk to Meg. She's the one who couldn't wait any longer to come out. Besides, she's not the only thing I gave you this year."

"So you do have a present for me!" He sounds all excited again.

"Yeah, I already gave it to you. " He furrows his brow and gives me a confused look. "_You know_."

"Oh, yeah." The grin is back again.

"Okay, we better not dwell on that too long. Not with the baby in the room."

"Or in the baby's room."

"Like we haven't already 'christened' this room … along with all the others in the house," I say with a chuckle. "Come on, let's get Meggie her bath before she gets too cold." I turn and head into the bathroom adjoining the nursery.

Yet another adorable room. It was painted the same yellow as the bedroom when we moved in. The addition of a yellow duck wallpaper border at counter height along with lots of rubber ducky accessories has turned it into a cute little bathroom. Meg's yellow ducky robe hangs on a hook on the back of the door and her little blue baby tub sits on the counter next to the sink, just waiting to be tried out.

"Here, baby, let's try on your robe," I say, snagging the garment off its hook and passing it to Carter.

"Okay, I'll try it. But I don't think it's gonna fit me." But I notice he's already fitted the hood over Meg's head and wrapped the robe around her body to keep her warm while we get the bath ready. And once she's dressed in her little ducky outfit, he passes her over to me so that we can stop and pose for the camera while Daddy snaps a picture of us getting ready for Meg's bath. He's already set the video camera on a shelf and turned it on so that later we can enjoy reliving this moment over and over again in all of its boring detail.

As soon as the tub has enough water in it, I hand Meg back to her daddy and find the little plastic duck-shaped thermometer that will tell us the temperature of the water. It feels fine to me, but I guess it doesn't hurt to make sure. I have no doubt that taking the temperature of the water is a ritual that will soon be dispensed with … and something that will never happen with the next baby. But she's the first … and this is her first bath, so I guess we'd better do it up right.

"I think we're ready, Daddy."

"Okay. Are you ready, Meg? Are you ready for your bath that you are just gonna _love_? Huh? Let's get your diaper off …" I turn to look at him when he stops mid-sentence and discover him peering down at Meg with a look of unpleasant surprise on his face. "Oh, yuck."

"What?" I ask, although I have a good guess.

"She's a mess."

"Oh, yeah. That happens every time she eats. Breast milk just runs right through her, I guess." I impart this knowledge as I cross the room to find some pre-warmed wipes. Once I return to the bathroom, we manage to get Meg cleaned up so that we can put her in the bath and get her cleaned up.

"Okay, peanut," I say, reaching out for Meg, "Don't be scared. You'll be fine."

"Don't do that," John tells me, turning away from me slightly and holding Meggie tight against his chest.

"Do what?"

"Try to scare her … so she'll cry."

"John, she's a week old. I could tell her she was gonna be eaten by sharks in her little blue tub and it wouldn't scare her. She doesn't understand what we're saying. C'mon … give me my baby." I reach for her again, but Carter keeps her out of my reach.

"Are your hands cold?" He asks, giving me a suspicious look.

"What?"

"That'll make her cry, too. I just want to make sure you're not cheating."

"You really think I would purposely make my baby cry just to win a bet?"

"Well, no … not when you put it that way," he says, sounding contrite. "But then again, I know how much you like to win."

"Fine. You put her in the tub. I wouldn't want to be accused of cheating."

"Okay, fine. I'll put her in the tub. Okay, Meg … here we go." He gets a firm grip on our naked baby and lifts her into the air, preparing to lower her into the tub. Her spindly little legs tense up and she holds them straight out, like she's bracing herself against whatever is coming her way.

"Don't drop her," I say, hovering close by, finally being unable to resist reaching out to put my hand behind her head. Her father has a hold of her under her arms -- my tiny little newborn with a wobbly neck and he's holding her like a leaking garbage bag. And she's not even leaking at the moment. I should have put her in the tub. I would have kept one hand under her head and one under her bottom. What's he afraid of? Getting his hand wet?

"Abby, I'm not gonna drop her." He sounds a bit indignant as he slowly lowers Meg into the infant tub, settling her against the back. Her eyes get big and round as she finds herself sitting in a puddle of water, in an unaccustomed position. Her face scrunches up as she draws her arms into her body. Here it comes … she lets out a huge wail, crying as if we've just stuck her in a pot of boiling water.

"What? What's wrong? Do you think the water is too hot?" Carter sounds a bit panicky, probably not prepared for this reaction. After all, he did think she was gonna love her bath. And I'm sure she will someday. But probably not today. This kind of thing takes some getting used to.

"No, I don't think it's the water … your elbow, my elbow, and the duck thermometer all said the water is fine. She's just scared. Aren't you pumpkin?" I coo at Meg, managing to push John over a bit and insert myself between him and the baby we are torturing. "Shh, Meg … it's okay." I lean over to talk quietly to her, one hand cradling her head while the other gently splashes water onto her belly. "See, Meg? It's just nice warm water. It's not so bad. Shh, you're okay. Mommy's here. I've got ya." She turns her head toward the sound of my voice and seems to be listening. Her cries quiet down to something more along the lines of a whimper. I take the opportunity to slip my hand into my robe pocket and come up with her pacifier. She clamps on to it eagerly and then just stares up at us with big eyes. "What are Mommy and Daddy doing to you, huh? Okay, I'm just gonna put some water on your head. Oh, that's a good girl," I say as the water from my cupped hand runs over her head and down her face. She blinks her eyes closed rather emphatically, but she doesn't cry.

I feel a tap on my shoulder, and turn to see John standing at my side, looking a little upset. "What?" I ask him.

"I thought we were doing this together, Supermom."

"We are." All right, so maybe I sort of pushed him out the way a little bit. He gives me a raised-eyebrows look. "Sorry. Do you wanna do the soap?"

"Well, first I guess I should get a picture." He seems to have just remembered the camera sitting on the countertop. He snaps a couple of pictures of the baby in her tub, and then a couple of me and the baby. Sooner or later he's gonna insist that I take a turn with the thing so that he can be in some of the pictures with Meg.

"Carter … do you think you can stop taking pictures and wash the baby?" I ask after a few more clicks of the camera.

"Sure." He puts down the camera and picks up the bottle of baby soap, moving around so he can squirt some on Meg's head. "Okay, Meg. This isn't gonna hurt a bit, I promise." Meg cranes her head around to look up at her daddy as he puts the soap on her head. I want to tell him not to use too much, to be careful of her fragile little skull, but I manage to hold my tongue --and the baby -- while he soaps her up. "I think she likes it," he says, looking over at me. I've still got a firm grip on her while Daddy takes care of the actual washing. How many people does it take to bathe a tiny newborn? Well, both of us, apparently.

"Yeah, she's digging it now. But the bet was whether or not she would cry," I remind him as he gets her all rinsed off.

"There you go, Meggie. All clean," her daddy tells her. "So you're really gonna hold me to that, huh? Make me change diapers all day on my birthday?" He gets a good grip on the baby, this time cradling her with his hands under neck and bottom. I slip the hood of one of her little towels over her head, and then her father places her carefully in my arms.

"Well … maybe we can negotiate." We get Meg all wrapped up in her towel and start rubbing her dry. And then we pause briefly for pictures of Meg in her hooded towel, and this time she's posing with her daddy.

"Negotiate? I like the sound of that. Hey, let's weigh her," he suggests, apparently catching sight of the baby scale. I wonder if this is how all our conversations are going to go from now on … abruptly changing from the topic at hand to something involving Meg. But then why not … we can't have an entire conversation anymore without one of us turning to make faces at and talk baby-talk to Meggie.

"8 lbs and 14 ounces," Carter announces after placing Meg on the baby scale that he insisted we buy. It seemed silly to me, but seeing as I was eight months pregnant at the time and just wanted to sit down, I would have agreed to buy a pony for the baby if it would have gotten me out of the store. "She's already past her birth weight."

"Aww, you're getting so big, huh Meg?" I croon at her, reaching over to pick her up. "Yeah, you're Mommy's big girl, aren't you? And you're just growing so fast."

"That's because she's lucky enough to have such a good mommy who's doing such a good job keeping her well-fed."

"Sucking up to me isn't gonna do you any good."

"I thought you said we could negotiate."

"We can," I say over my shoulder to him while I lay the baby down on the changing table and start drying her off more thoroughly … her little ears, in between her tiny toes. He appears by my side after a moment, both of the cameras in his hands.

"So what is it you want?"

"Well … okay, I'll let you out of the whole diaper changing thing on one condition."

"Uh-oh." I look over to see him take a deep breath and prepare himself. "What is it?"

"I want to go out."

"What do you mean 'out?' Like ... outside? You wanna take a walk?"

"Nooo … I want to go somewhere. You know, a place that isn't this house. Where there will be people other than my husband and my daughter."

"You'll be seeing lots of people tonight at the party," he reminds me.

"I know. But … I've gone absolutely nowhere since we brought Meg home, and I'm getting a serious case of cabin fever."

"You want to go out for awhile while I stay with Meg?"

"No, I thought we could all go out."

"You want to take the baby out?" He sounds somewhat scandalized. "She's only ten days old."

"So?"

"SO? So do you really think she should be out in public … around all those … people?"

"You just said yourself that there will be lots of people here tonight, and she's gonna be around all them."

"Yeah, but they're not strangers."

"Exactly. Which makes it worse, if you think about it. They're gonna expect us to let them hold her. They'll touch her and breathe all over her. Won't they, Meg? Yeah, they will. Good thing you've got all of Mommy's antibodies to help you fight off their icky germs," I say, looking down at the baby as I fasten her diaper and reach for a little pink onesie to slip over her head.

"I didn't think of that," John says.

"Yeah, so see? Taking her out can't be any worse than that, right?"

"I guess not."

"So you think it'll be okay to go out for a while today?"

"No."

"No? But you just said it couldn't be worse than what she'll be exposed to at the party."

"I know. That's why I think we should cancel the party."

"What?" I pick up Meg and turn around to face him. "We're not canceling the party."

"I don't want her to get sick."

It's all I can do to suppress an eye roll. "She won't get sick, I promise. Not at the party. And … not when we go out for breakfast."

"Breakfast?"

"Well, since I sort of fell down on the job on the whole breakfast-in-bed thing, I thought maybe I could take you out for a nice birthday breakfast. Besides, we need to pick up the cake. And a few other odds and ends for the party. So what do you say? Now that Meg's had her first bath, how about we take her on her first outing?"

He seems to consider this for a moment, making a display of furrowing his brow and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Well … okay. But don't let any strangers hold her."

"I promise. I won't let her talk to strangers. Or run with scissors. Or leave the house with a wet head." His turn to give me an eye roll. "Why don't you go get dressed while I get Meg dressed?" I suggest.

"How come you get to dress the baby?" he asks plaintively.

"Because I'm the mommy."

"It's my birthday," he counters.

"I pushed an almost-nine-pound baby out of my body. A little over a week ago."

"Okay, you win." He smiles and waves at Meg who's curled up against my chest, one tiny arm flailing around in the air. "Daddy'll be right back," he tells her before turning back toward our bedroom.

"Okay, Meggie, it's a big day. You get to escape from the house and go out into the real world. So what do you want to wear?" I consult with her as we stand in front of her closet, surveying all her little outfits. "I think … something comfy … and babyish, I guess. Since you are a baby and all. Besides, you'll be all dressed up tonight. So how about one of your cute little sleepers?" I pull a couple of the footy pajamas out of the closet and lay them over the changing table to decide which one. "What'll it be, pumpkin? The pink stripes or the yellow with teeny-tiny pink flowers." I feel Meg hiccup against my chest. "What's that? You like the yellow with the flowers? Okay. Oh, it'll be such a pretty color with your red hair, won't it? And we'll put you in your little pink cap and take your little pink blanket … because we don't want any little old ladies thinking you're a boy, do we?" Apparently Meg doesn't like that idea either because she begins fussing a little. But just her usual ehn-ehn-ehn, and a little jiggling and swaying seems to soothe her. I lay her down on the changing table and get her dressed up in her little one piece outfit, adding the pink cap to her head.

"I guess we'd better pack up a diaper bag, huh sweetie? I think we really have to take the pink one … it just happens to match your outfit with the same little flowers and everything. Well, I guess it doesn't _just_ _happen_ to … I'm sure Aunt Susan did that one purpose. Other than your daddy, Aunt Susan was the first person to bring you a gift after your were born … and just about all of it was pink. Or covered in pink flowers. Or both. See, look at the little matching bibs. But you don't need those yet, do you?" I empty out all the little goodies that are still in the diaper bag that Susan gave us as a gift before we even left the hospital. "Let's see … I guess we better start with diapers," I say to Meg, who's calmly watching me from her spot on the changing table. I put the bag down next to her little feet and start filling it up with all the essentials of traveling with a newborn. "Got the diapers, and the wipes in the little travel container. We better take a burp cloth … or two. And we'll put your pink blanket in the outside pocket in case we need it. And since we don't need any bottles to go in the bottle pockets, we'll put a couple extra pacifiers in there. We wouldn't want to be without those, would we?" I coo at her. She seems decidedly uninterested as I decide to pack up the pink sleeper that I almost dressed her in. And then, just in case, toss in one of the nightgowns she wears a lot, a pair of booties, an extra onesie and another little hat.

"Okay, pumpkin. I think that's it. I think we're ready." She starts squirming around on the changing table and making the I'm-about-to-start-screaming face. I pop a pacifier in her mouth, find a clip for it so that I can attach it to her clothing and then scoop her up. I sling the diaper bag over my shoulder, and Meg and I head for my bedroom to see if Daddy's done getting dressed.

He is, as we see when we walk in the room. He smiles over at us and comes over to take the baby out of my arms.

"Aww, Meggie, you look so cute. She looks so sweet in her little cap," he says, adjusting the stretchy knit cap.

"She is sweet." I lean over and kiss Meg's forehead softly. "Aren't you, baby?" I look up at John. "You look nice. I've got Meg all packed up," I say as I pat the diaper bag. "So … I guess we're ready to go." I turn to head back out the door.

"Um, Abby?"

"Yeah?"

"You're wearing a robe."

I glance down. Oh, he's right. "I guess I should get dressed, huh?"

"Probably," he agrees, settling down on the edge of the bed with Meg. I put the diaper bag down and go to the closet to get some clothes. Clothes. That's a bit of a problem. The underwear part is fine once I figure out how to get the nursing pads to stay in my nursing bra. But when it comes to actual clothes, it takes several attempts to find something presentable that actually fits. I've mostly been slopping around the house in yoga pants and baggy shorts so I haven't had to worry about the "baby fat" that I haven't dropped yet. I finally find a pair of jeans that I wore in the middle of my pregnancy that, with the help of a belt, seem to fit okay. I toss on a t-shirt and think I'm ready to go. Until I remember that I might want to do something about my hair. And maybe even put on a little make-up. So I stop by the bathroom. By the time I've managed to get my hair looking decent, I hear Meg start to make her little fussy noises in the other room.

"Okay, I think I'm finally ready," I say once I get back to the bedroom. "God, I forgot how long it all takes."

"Well, you may be ready … but I don't think she is."

"What do you mean?" But then I look down at the baby, laying stretched out on the bed next to her daddy. She's rather enthusiastically sucking on his finger. "Oh, are you getting hungry … again?" At the sound of my voice in its baby-talk tone, she stops sucking on her daddy's finger and opens up her mouth to wail. Her cries and the tingling in my breasts answers that question. So I settle in to give Meg her second (third?) breakfast before we leave to go get our_ first _breakfast. Naturally, when we take a break and her daddy burps her, she manages to spit up over most of his shirt. He hands her back to me and goes looking for something clean to put on. Maybe we should start using those burp cloths more often.

"Now Meg, I know we should finish the first side first," I say to the baby, settling her into the crook of my other arm this time, "But I really don't want to go out looking lopsided. Or have one side start leaking uncontrollably … so just in case you're not that hungry, we're gonna try this side now, okay?" She gives me a look that clearly says, "Whatever, Mom, just feed me. I'm hungry here." And that makes sense since about half of what she just ate is now on her father's shirt.

Finally, John's dressed again, and Meg has drifted off to sleep. But, of course she needs a change before we can go anywhere. Luckily everything has been contained in her diaper, so all we have to do is put on a fresh one and get the little legs of her sleeper buttoned up again. Now that we're all put back together, I take the baby and he takes the diaper bag, muttering something under his breath about it being pink, and we head downstairs. There in the front hall at the bottom of the stairs sits our "travel system," as they like to call it at the baby store. A little infant carseat/carrier that clips on to a matching stroller. It took us quite some time to pick out just the right one. But we finally managed to agree on one with a plaid fabric in charcoal and navy with a thin red stripe running through it. It's got all the most up-to-date safety features, plus plenty of convenience features that we like. It really is a pretty cool contraption. We've been using it to take Meg for short walks around the block, but this is the first time since we came home from the hospital that we'll take the carseat off the stroller and put it back in the car. I lay her carefully in the seat, and we get her strapped into the harness and snuggled under a lightweight pink blanket that we keep with the stroller.

"Here," Carter says, handing the diaper bag to me. "You take this, and I'll get the baby."

"You want me to take that _pink_ diaper bag?" I ask.

"Well, yeah. And, you know … I figured the bag was lighter than the baby in the carseat."

"Uh-huh," I say, taking the bag and wondering if he's really trying to keep me from having to do any 'heavy' lifting or it's really just that he doesn't want to be seen with a pink bag slung over his shoulder.

"Do you think we'll need the stroller?" he asks, interrupting my thoughts.

I consider it for a minute. "Nah, I don't think so. We'll just carry her in to the restaurant in her carseat … I'm sure they have something there we can sit it on."

"Yeah, the table."

"No, lots of places have those things now."

"What things?"

"I don't know … some kind of hammock type thing to put a baby seat in."

"Really?"

"Yeah, they're all over the place these days. And we won't need it at the grocery store."

"We won't? I don't think I want to carry this thing all around the store."

"Don't call our baby girl a thing," I joke.

"I meant the carseat," he says with mock exasperation.

"Well, you won't have to. It'll clip right on to the cart the same way it clips onto the stroller."

"It will?"

"Yeesss," I assure him, turning down the hall to go to the garage.

"How do you know all this stuff?" he asks as he follows behind me, his tone a mixture of admiration and disbelief.

I just shrug. "I don't know. I guess I've been … paying attention." I'm practically skipping down the hall now that I'm almost to the garage. I'm unreasonably excited about getting out of the house. Sad, very sad. But as soon as we get Meg's carseat popped into its base in the backseat and finally get underway, I'm just happy. Very happy.

"Look, Meg," I exclaim to a sleeping baby from my spot right next to her, "Sun. Sky. Trees. Houses. Isn't it exciting?"

"Geez, Abby … it's not like you've been locked up in the house for the last week. We've taken plenty of walks."

"Yeah, up and down the same street. And already we've left our street behind. You don't know how exciting that is when you've been in the house for a week."

"It's _only_ been a week," he says, glancing back at me.

"Easy for you to say. You've gotten to leave. You've gone to the grocery store. And to pick up the carryout. And to the dry cleaners."

"Whoa, exciting stuff, Ab."

"You don't know how jealous I am."

He chuckles at that, and then changes the subject. "Okay, so since this is your big field trip, where do you want to go for breakfast?"

"It's your birthday," I remind him. Then I turn to Meggie and begin babbling at her even while she sleeps soundly. "What do you think, pumpkin? This is your first outing. And you're gonna get to go to your first restaurant. Tonight's your first party. You had your first bath. This is a day of firsts for you, isn't it?"

"How about the yellow diner?" Carter calls back to me, referring to a little place a couple miles from our house. "I think we really ought to show it to Meg, don't you?" We discovered the diner late one night when I was about seven months pregnant and had to have blueberry pancakes. It was the only place open, but the minute we went in, we fell in love with its retro feel. That was the first of many visits over the next couple of months. When a place is open 24 hours a day and serves everything from fried chicken to waffles, you know it's gonna be a hit with a pregnant woman. We've nicknamed it the yellow diner because everything inside, from the countertops to the booth to the paint on the walls, is some shade of yellow.

"If that's what you want."

He nods, decisively. "Meg's outfit will go so well with the décor."

I roll my eyes and whisper to a sleeping Meg, "Your daddy's goofy."

"What was that?" John asks from the front of the car.

"Uh … I said, 'Happy birthday.'"

"Uh-huh. Sure you did." But I can hear the smile in his voice.

We lapse into silence for the rest of the short ride to the diner. I'm busy staring at the window marveling at how different everything seems to look, as if I hadn't seen these streets for months instead of mere days. Meg's busy sleeping soundly in her carseat, having little baby dreams of I-don't-know-what. Probably of being back in the womb where everything was warm and dark and quiet, and she didn't have to cry for her supper along with anything else she might need. Poor little thing; it must be so hard to be a newborn. I lay my hand on her head softly, and then lean down to kiss one of her little cheeks. My sweet baby. Such a miracle. I glance up in time to catch John's eye in the review mirror. I can tell he's smiling, watching me with Meg.

"You better watch the road," I warn him.

He looks back at the road ahead, but says, "I'd rather watch my girls."

I smile at that, looking out the window to see that we are already turning into the parking lot. John parks the car and then turns to glance back at us.

"Just wait there," he instructs as he gets out of the car. In a moment, he's opening my door, giving me his hand and helping me out. Then he leans in and unhooks Meg's carseat, pulling her carefully out of the car. I grab the diaper bag and my own handbag, and we go inside.

Almost as soon as we are in the door, Viv, our favorite waitress, catches sight of us. She smiles in recognition, then does a slight double take.

"Oh, honey, you had your baby!" She comes charging across the room, hands clasped together in excitement. "Well, I should have known since they all have to come sometime and what with you two not being here for a while … oh, let me have a look."

John looks somewhat nervous about the prospect, but still holds up the carseat so that Viv can get a look at Meg.

"Oh, a little girl, isn't that wonderful? And she's just gorgeous. Just look at her. And that hair. My God, that's something. What's her name?"

"Meg," I say, feeling an overwhelming rush of pride that a practical stranger thinks that Meg is every bit as adorable as we think she is.

"Meg. That's cute. Is it just Meg or is it short for Megan?"

"Margaret, actually. She's named after my mother."

"Well, isn't that nice?" she asks, grinning down at the smiling baby.

"Hey, Viv, what's going on?" One of the other waitresses calls from across the room. Apparently, we've managed to arrive at a down time.

"Abby had her baby," Viv calls across the nearly empty room.

"Who?"

"Abby," she enunciates, gesturing toward me. "The past few months they've been a couple of my best customers. Those late night cravings, huh? Janice, come look at this baby. I've never seen such a gorgeous baby before. She's got the most beautiful red curls."

The other waitress, Janice, comes out from behind the counter and walks over to where we are standing to peer at the still-sleeping baby.

"Oh, she looks just like an angel," Janice says. "I love her hair."

"Thank you," I say. John seems a bit speechless. I can tell by the look on his face that he's wishing about now that he'd chosen to go to Denny's for a birthday Grand Slam.

"Sleeping like a little angel, aren't you, Meg?" Viv coos at the baby.

"Well, for the moment anyway," John says, finally finding his voice. "But you should have heard her last night at 3 a.m."

We all chuckle at that, and then Viv looks as if something's just occurred her. "I don't suppose you showed up here this morning just to stand around at the door. I guess maybe you'd like to sit down and order some breakfast. C'mon," she says, gesturing for us to follow her as she leads us back to a big booth in the corner "with plenty of room for the baby." It's a big round corner booth, so we each slip into one side and get the baby's seat wedged securely into the space in between us.

"Can I bring you some coffee or juice while you decide?" The waitress asks us.

"I know what I want," I tell her, suddenly realizing that I'm starving. "Blueberry pancakes. Just like the very first time we were ever here. For old time's sake," I tell Carter with a laugh, considering the "old times" were barely two months ago.

"Me too," he tells her. "And orange juice for both of us." He gives me a glance, to make sure that's what I want.

I nod in agreement before adding a few more items to my order. "And an order of sausage. And bacon. And some scrambled eggs. Oh, and some hash browns, too." Viv doesn't say a word about the order, just writes it down on her order pad as she walks behind the counter to give it to the cook, but Carter is giving me a funny look.

"What?"

"Who do you think is going to eat all that food?"

"Me." He raises his eyebrows at me. "I'm hungry. Besides, I'm a nursing mother, I need lots of calories."

"Oh really?" He asks, sounding skeptical.

"Really. And I would know." Before he can open his mouth to argue any further, I slip out of the booth. "Oops, I forgot something. I'll be right back," I say in response to the puzzled look on his face. I slip off to talk to Viv for a moment, and return to see him gazing down at Meg adoringly. She sleeps on, even as her daddy slips his finger into one of her little fists. Her tiny fingers splay out and then wrap tightly around his finger. She sighs in her sleep and seems to burrow more deeply in to her carseat.

"God, she's gorgeous, isn't she?" Carter asks, barely able to pull his eyes away from the sleeping baby.

"Yeah … she is," I admit. "But I think that maybe we're a little bit biased."

He shrugs and gives me that speculative look of his. "I don't know, Ab … everyone says it. How beautiful she is. Maybe it's true."

"Everyone says that newborn babies are beautiful whether it's true or not."

"Yeah, but in this case it's true. Isn't that right, Meg?" I just roll my eyes. I mean, I think Meg's obviously the most beautiful creature on the face of the earth, but I'm supposed to think that, I'm her mother.

"So where'd you go? You didn't order more food, did you?"

"And so what if I did? I told you, I'm a nursing mother."

"Yeah, but what are you planning to nurse? A football team?"

"I'm not even gonna dignify that with a response."

"You just did."

"Shut up."

"Don't say shut up in front of the baby," John says in singsong voice.

"She's asleep," I point out, looking over at the baby. God, she's so sweet. It melts my heart to just look at her.

"Not for long." He's right. Even as we watch, she starts to squirm and squeak. She makes little noises while she stretches out her little arms and legs, moving her head back and forth restlessly. Her little mouth opens into a big yawn, and then as her eyes slowly open, the yawn turns into a screech which then turns into a full-blown cry.

"Meg's awake," I say. John just gives me a look somewhere between bemusement and exasperation as he reaches toward the baby, starting to unbuckle her so he can lift her out of the carseat. As soon as she's in his arms, she calms down and her squealing turns to whimpering. However, no amount of juggling, patting, or trying to wiggle the nuk into her mouth manages to settle her down completely.

"Here. Let me try." I reach across the table to take Meg from her daddy. He seems reluctant to give her up, but eventually hands her over. I cuddle her to my chest, and she snuggles in, accepting the pacifier and sucking on it contentedly.

"How do you do that?" He looks at me with a mix of awe and curiosity.

I shrug. "I think it's just luck."

"Nope. She's a mommy's girl. She likes you better already."

"That's not true."

"Sure it is. The minute you pick her up, she calms right down. You can always soothe her when she's upset."

"Honey, that's not me; that's my boobs."

"No, it's more than that. Look at her now. She's not nursing. She's just happy to be with her mom."

"Well, she did live inside of me for nine months. I think she's just used to me. You just have a little catching up to do. And then she'll be a daddy's girl."

"I don't know. We'll see. But right now she sure loves her mommy."

"She loves you too," I assure him.

"She just loves you more. But that's the way it should be since, like you said, she knows you better. You're her mother, after all."

I bend to kiss the top of her little head. "Her mother. It's still hard to believe. I'm a mommy. Her mommy. And she's mine. Ours. It's crazy."

"I know," he says with a nod of understanding. Before he can say anything else and turn the moment even more sappy, he's distracted by movement behind him.

"Abby … did you do that?" He asks with mock disapproval.

I shrug. Because, after all, who else would have arranged to have Viv and company come out to the table with a candle stuck in a stack of blueberry pancakes? Once they see that they have our attention, the ragtag group launches into a lusty, if off-key, rendition of "Happy Birthday." I join in, singing softly, and Meg, startled by the commotion chimes in as well. Of course her 'singing' sounds an awful lot like crying. I reach over into the diaper bag where Carter stuck the camera when he thought I wasn't looking and pull it out to take a picture. I'm really getting good at doing lots of things one-handed.

"Make a wish," Viv instructs, setting the pancakes in front of Carter, and then reaching over to take the camera from me.

"What could I possibly wish for? I've already got all that any man could ask for -- a lovely wife, a beautiful baby …" This gets a big 'aww' from the crowd, but I just roll my eyes and smile, embarrassed but also pleased by the compliment. When I glance over at Carter, he's grinning at me, enjoying my discomfort.

"Just blow out your candle," I say in response to the waggling eyebrows. Still grinning at me, he blows out the candle to a round of applause while I pat Meg's back and get her settled down again.

"Thank you," he says to me and his chorus of well-wishers.

"Move over," Viv instructs, with a wave of her hand that holds the camera. So Carter moves Meg's carseat out of the way and slides over next to Meg and I. I turn Meg around and settle her back against my chest, so that Viv can take a picture or two or twenty of the three of us and the birthday pancakes. By the time we're done with the latest photo-op, most of the group has drifted away, leaving Viv to bring out the rest of the food that we … uh, I ordered.

"I hope you're hungry," she comments, before walking away.

"Always," I say as I pour syrup over my stack of blueberry pancakes, preparing to dig in.

"Wait a minute," John says before I can even take the first bite.

"What?" In response, he reaches into the diaper back, removes one of the burp cloths, and carefully unfolds it before reaching over to lay it gently on Meg's head. "What did you do that for?"

"I didn't want you to get syrup on her head."

"Then why didn't you put her cap back on?" I ask nodding toward the carseat where the cap that she lost in all of her squirming around now rests.

"Well, you might have gotten syrup on her cap."

I just look at him, but since Meg isn't protesting her new headwear, and I'm really getting hungry, I start in on breakfast.

"See, not one drop of syrup on the burp cloth," I proclaim when I finally finish eating.

"Yeah, just a little bit of scrambled eggs and some crumbs. Good thing I covered up her head."

"Yes, because she certainly couldn't have survived some crumbs in her hair. Here, would you take her?" I ask as I pass her over.

"Where are you going?"

"To pay the bill. Since it _is_ your birthday."

He smiles indulgently probably thinking that's it a somewhat silly gesture since all the money comes out of a common pot. But still, it's the principle of the thing.

Viv rings up the bill, while glancing back over at the table. "She really is adorable."

"Thank you."

"And he sure is smitten."

"She's already got him wrapped around her little finger," I say, looking over at where Carter is cradling Meg in his arms, making silly faces at her as he talks to her.

"Not just with the baby," she tells me.

"Oh." I can't think of what else to say.

"You're a beautiful family."

"Thanks."

"She doesn't know how lucky she is … to be born into a happy family with parents who are so in love."

I can feel myself blush. "I'm the one who's lucky."

"Don't you forget it," she admonishes me good-naturedly.

"Don't worry, I won't." I assure her as I head back to my family. Carter's already getting Meg back into the carseat, probably in an attempt to escape before anyone else can breathe on her. He ushers us out amid lots of happy birthday wishes, and after just a little bit of struggling to get the carseat back into it's proper position, we are on our way again.

"Where are you going?" I call up to the front seat from my spot next to the baby.

"Home."

"Home? We can't go home. We have to pick up the cake, and go to the grocery store."

"I can do that after I drop you two at home."

"John."

"What?"

"I don't want to go home."

"Abby."

"What?"

"I don't want you wearing yourself out. You don't want to be tired out for the party, do you?"

"I'm fine, John."

"You just had a baby … Abby." He's mocking me, copying the tone I took with him.

"Ten days ago. And that hardly makes me an invalid."

"And what about Meg?"

"She's fine."

"You really want to take her into a grocery store?" From the way he says that, it's almost as if I suggested taking her to the ER and having her lick the floors.

"It's a grocery store, not a leper colony. We buy our food there, how bad can it be?"

"You don't really want me to answer that. I saw this Dateline special on grocery stores, and …"

"Besides, we can't keep her in a bubble forever," I interrupt, not wanting to hear about the grocery store exposé .

"Who said anything about forever? I was just thinking about a few weeks … months … years …" he trails off, but I figure that I've won the battle since he's turned the car in the opposite direction.

When we pull up in front of the bakery, John turns around and says, "I'll run in. You can wait here."

"Well …"

"No sense in getting the baby out just to run in and pick up the cake. Especially since she's already kind of fussy." She is crying a bit, perhaps not enjoying being trapped in her seat. Although why she should care, I don't know. I mean, if she weren't in the carseat, where exactly would she be going?

"True. But maybe I should go and get it."

"Why?"

"Well, it's your cake. I wouldn't want you peeking at it."

"Why not?" He asks, chuckling.

"Bad luck?"

"I think you're confusing a birthday cake with a bride. I'll be right back," he says as he gets out of the car. "Besides, I think Meg needs you," he tells me before shutting the door.

Needs me for what? Oh yeah … I guess in all the excitement of being out of the house, time has just flown by. It's been a while. The achy tingling in my breasts as my milk lets down and leaks into my nursing pads probably should have been a hint, even if Meg's "feed me" cries were not.

"Okay, sweetie," I coo at her, undoing the straps and lifting her into my arms. "You probably want your third breakfast, don't you?" Her crying seems to take on a more desperate note, so I take that as a yes. Now all the baby books say you shouldn't try to nurse when the baby is crying, but I've yet to figure out how to calm her down so I can feed her when the only reason she's crying is because she wants me to feed her. So screw the baby books, we do just fine on our own. Crying or not, she's managed to latch right on, and is still nursing contentedly when Carter gets back to the car, opens up the rear door to put the cake in. Immediately, I stop my warbling rendition of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star." But I think that John's probably caught at least part of my concert for Meg, judging by the grin he gives me as he tries to wrestle the cake into the back end of the car. Wow, that's a big cake.

"Do you think it's big enough?" Carter asks once he's back in the driver's seat.

"I certainly hope so," I say, keeping my voice down so as not to disturb the baby. But glancing down at her, I realize that she's not paying any attention to her parents; she has more important things to worry about. She's suckling with gusto, one arm tucked around me, the other stretched out with her little hand resting against my chest. Her little fingers seem to flutter in time with her swallowing. I slip one finger under hers and lift her little hand up to my lips to kiss her tiny rosy pink fingernails.

"I was kidding," John says, apparently picking up on the fact that I'm too wrapped up with the baby to tune into the nuances of his sarcastic tone of voice. "Did you see that thing? It's huge. You could feed a small, underprivileged nation with that cake. Did you really think we'd need that much?"

"Well, I didn't know how big it was going to be. When I called to order it, I just said I wanted a sheet cake."

"Why did you get a full sheet?"

"Because who wants half a cake?" Oh great, now he's laughing at me. "What?" I demand.

"It wouldn't be half of a cake, it would just be a smaller cake. That one is enough cake for a hundred people."

"So I guess we'll all have to eat a lot of cake," I respond sullenly. "Honestly, how was I supposed to know?" I mumble under my breath. "Huh, Meg? You would think they would mention these things when you order a cake over the phone. No one asked how many people it was for. At least you're not laughing at me." I cuddle her a little closer, shooting dirty looks at her father. So I'm a little old to be pouting. Sue me.

He seems to understand that I'm not happy with him. "It's okay, Ab. No big deal. So we've got a lot of cake. That's okay. I like cake. Besides, we may need a lot of cake -- I think Frank will be there."

"Can we please stop talking about cake?"

"Why? I told you, don't feel bad. It's not a problem. It's always better to have too much than to have too little."

"No, that's not it."

"Then why do we have to stop talking about cake?"

"Because it's making me hungry!"

"Hungry? After all that food we just inhaled. How can you possibly be hungry?"

"I told you. Nursing mother."

"I see that. See? I told you she needed you."

"Yeah, we had to take a little snack break. Sorry we're stuck just sitting here until she gets through."

"It's no problem. Well, not to me, anyway. This lady waiting for our space doesn't seem too happy, but that's just too bad. We have a hungry baby who needs to eat, right pumpkin?" He reaches back to ruffle her hair. Apparently, he's perfectly content to sit here in a parked car all morning.

"What? What's so funny?" He asks after I start giggling.

"Nothing. I was just thinking that this sure is different than the other times we've sat around together in a parked car."

"Yeah, well, we never did that in broad daylight at ten o'clock in the morning," he says with a somewhat embarrassed look on his face.

"It just gives a whole new meaning to the term 'parking.' Right, Meg?"

"Just so long as this is the only kind of parking she ever does."

"Dream on, Daddy. She's not gonna stay your little baby forever."

"Stop it, Abby. It's not nice to try to give me a heart attack on my birthday."

"You poor thing," I say to Meg, shifting her onto my shoulder to burp her. "Your daddy is gonna be terrible."

"I just want to protect my baby girl."

"I know. And really, you're lucky, Meg. You won't think so when you're a teenager, but trust me, not every girl is lucky enough to have an overprotective father around to look out for her." I give John a smile and he smiles back, a slightly melancholy smile, probably worrying that I'm lamenting my fatherless childhood. In truth, I've long since gotten over it. I'm just glad that my daughter will be lucky enough to have what I didn't.

"Okay, we're ready to go," I say once Meg's strapped back in.

"Ready?"

"Yep."

"Okay," he says, turning on the car and pulling into the flow of traffic. Once we arrive at the grocery, I expect another skirmish, but he seems to have given up. He just parks the car and then comes around to help us out. Of course, by the time he's gotten there, I've lifted the carseat out of its base and am ready to pass it out to him when he opens the door. He shakes his head, but takes the baby in her carrier in one hand while holding the other out to me. We get into the store, find ourselves a cart, and then attempt to attach the carseat to it.

"Here in the front, right?" Carter asks.

"Uh, yeah."

"How?"

"Uh …" We seem to be having a small problem getting a handle on this. Luckily, an awake Meg is patiently waiting for her parents to figure this thing out. Okay, this is just sad. It can't possibly be that difficult. But it seems to be like a childproof cap … you need a child to open one of those things. Maybe we can find a four-year-old around here somewhere to show us how this works.

"Okay, I think I got it," John says as we hear a click. He slowly moves his hands away from the seat, and sure enough, it stays right where it belongs, balanced on the front of the grocery cart. And what do you know? When we push the cart, it doesn't even fall off. "Cool," he observes. "That's gonna come in handy. So what are we here for," he asks, turning to me.

"Food," I tell him, dropping the diaper bag and my purse into the cart.

"Yeah, but what exactly?"

"I don't know. We're having a cookout … so I guess cookout food."

"Wait. We need _all_ the food for the cookout?"

"Well … yeah."

"But you said we just had to pick up a few things. I thought you meant like … paper plates or ketchup or cheese. I didn't know we had to buy everything."

"Well, where else is it going to come from? You didn't buy it already, did you? And I've been on house arrest so … don't worry, we don't need too much. Just some hot dogs and hamburgers. Maybe some chicken. Chips. Soda. Fresh fruit. Vegetables."

"We must have some vegetables at home."

"Sure. But I don't think anyone is gonna want to eat them after we pick them out of the leftover fried rice."

"Abby."

"I'm serious. Have you looked in the fridge lately? Aside from the leftover take out, there's some moldy cheese and half a carton of expired orange juice."

"Maybe we should try getting some food for ourselves."

"Might be a good idea. But no matter what, we're starting from scratch."

"So much for not needing too much. Oh well. At least we already have more than enough dessert."

"Shut up."

"Don't say shut up …"

"In front of the baby," I chime in. "What are you doing?"

"Well, we'll need buns for the hamburgers and hotdogs, won't we?"

"Yeah, but why are you getting them now?"

"Because they're here?"

"But you can't put your buns on the bottom of the cart. They'll get smashed." He gives me a lost look. "By all of the other food? See, this is what happens when your housekeeper always does the grocery shopping."

He looks at me for a long minute and then slowly and deliberately removes all the packages of buns. He reaches down and puts them on the bottom rack.

"Happy?"

"Well … now where are you gonna put the soda?" I ask him.

"In the cart."

"Okay. Fine. Whatever."

"What?"

"Nothing," I tell him. Then mumble under my breath, "Everyone knows you get the bread last. Remember that, Meggie. Oh."

"What?" He asks again, this time in response to my surprised tone.

"She's asleep."

"Oh." He doesn't sound quite as surprised by my discovery as I was. "Well, it is one of the things she does best. Eating, sleeping, pooping … those are her main talents right now."

"Yeah, but she fell asleep on her own. She just laid her little head down and went to sleep. No nursing, no rocking, no patting. If she fell asleep in the car, I would understand. But all we've done here is bounce her around trying to get her carseat attached to the cart and then stood around arguing."

"Well, she probably likes it when we argue. She used to it by now, I'm sure. So it probably is a comfort to her. Probably even better than lullabies."

"So every night we should go into her room and argue to put her to sleep?"

"We should have tried it last night when she wouldn't sleep. No wonder she's sleeping now. She was up all night keeping me company." He emphasizes that statement by yawning.

"Well, come on," I say, starting down the aisle. "We better get the shopping done so I can get you home for your nap."

"Hey, I was up with the baby all night, you know."

"All night?"

"Well, most of the night … okay, part of the night. Still … I have a right to be tired. And not all of us are lucky enough to be able to just close our eyes and go to sleep right in our own cozy little carseat," he says, peering at Meg.

"Yeah, that's really telling her. C'mon … let's get this done."

"You're suddenly in a hurry?"

"Well … I just want to get you home so you can rest up for the party. Besides, the sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get Meg home."

"Since you put it that way … let's get going." He puts his hands on my shoulders and steers me down the aisle. I figured that the prospect of getting his baby girl home would be enough to get him moving. We waste no time going up and down the aisles, filling up the cart. Funny how the longer we're here, the more we realize we need.

"We should probably get more diapers," John says as we wander down the baby aisle. "She's starting outgrow the newborn size already." He picks out a pack of the next size up and puts it in the cart. Who? My tiny little Meg? I run my hand fondly over her sleeping her head. Not even two weeks old, and she's already outgrown something.

"And we're getting low on wipes," I tell him when my mind finally wanders back from its reverie.

"She looked a little red when I changed her earlier, maybe we should get diaper rash cream … just in case."

"And that little bottle of baby soap isn't gonna last much longer, now that she's getting real baths."

Soon we've got all of Meg's supplies replenished, plenty of food for the party and even a few staples to stock the pantry.

"Okay, that's it. Let's head to the checkout," Carter says as we round corner of the last aisle.

"Not so fast. We still have to go to the produce section."

"Produce?"

"You know, fruits and vegetables," I say sing-song voice.

"Very funny. But we already have vegetables."

"No, we don't."

"Sure, we do. Pickles are a vegetable." He points to the giant jar in the cart.

I roll my eyes at him. "Come on …" I grab his arm and lead him into the produce department, stuck in one of the front corners of the market, where we variously argue and joke our way through picking out some fresh fruit and veggies for everyone to munch on.

"Now can we go, Mom?" Carter asks me, a petulant look on his face. Suddenly I can picture myself a few years from now with Meg giving me the exact same face. Although I suspect _she _won't be worried about getting the fragile newborn back to her little cocoon at home as soon as possible. And somehow, I doubt she'll be as much trouble in the grocery as her father is. After all, the baby hasn't caused me any problems; it was her daddy that wanted to buy six different kinds of cookies "for the party." Next time he's staying home.

"_Yes_, we can go. But _don't_ call me 'Mom.'"

"You know you like it."

"No, I don't."

"Sure, you do … you know, something doesn't smell very good in this store," Carter comments with an exaggerated sniff as we get into line at the checkout.

"Yeah," I agree. "Your daughter."

"Huh? Oh. Yuck."

"Yeah."

"Do you think we should change her here?"

I think about that briefly. Dragging the peaceful, sleeping baby, in her carseat, and her brand-new, pristine diaper bag into a tiny, possibly dirty bathroom. Carter abandoning the cart and barging into the ladies' room after us so that he can sanitize every surface with baby wipes and then insisting on staying to 'help' me. The baby waking up the minute we take her out of the carseat and demanding, in an ear-piercing scream, to be fed immediately. Trying to unload the cart, pack the groceries, and load the car while juggling an unhappy baby.

"No, I think she'll be fine until we get home."

"We don't want her to get a full-on diaper rash."

"She won't. It's a short ride. And if she does, now we have rash cream."

"Good point." He grins at me as he begins unloading the cart. Meg sleeps on like the little angel that she is while we checkout, load the car, and then drive home. We even manage to unpack most of our purchases before we start hearing little complaints from the carseat perched in the middle of the kitchen table.

"Oh, good, you're awake," I coo at Meggie. "I've been wanting to change your diaper, but I didn't want to wake you." I slip the straps of the carseat off of her and pick her up, cradling her in one of my arms.

"Want me to change her?" John asks from behind the refrigerator door where he's putting away some of our purchases.

"No, I'll do it."

"But I lost the bet."

"Yeah, but I told you I'd let you out of that if you took us out. And you did, so … "

"I don't mind. A bet's a bet, Abby."

"No, no. I'll do it. Something tells me I have to feed her, anyway." The something being her little head nuzzling into my chest rather insistently while her little lips roam along the outside of my shirt, searching for the source of the milk that she can smell, but can't quite seem to find. "So close, yet so far away, huh Meg? I know you're hungry, but we have to change your diaper first."

This news is apparently not what she wanted to hear, and the minute that I set her down on the changing station that the Pack'n'Play came equipped with, she starts wailing. "I know, pumpkin. Mommy's hurrying. I promise." I get her cleaned up and re-diapered as fast as possible, fumbling around a bit more than usual in my attempt to get through the task quickly. Finally, I get her diapered and snapped up. We settle on the couch where I promptly hitch up my shirt, open up my bra, and get her latched on. I feel like I spend all my time these days putting on and taking off someone's clothes. This isn't the first time in my life that I've felt that way, but in the past it's meant something entirely different. I lean my head back against the couch and feel the smile spread across my face at the thought of those not-so-long ago days of a hot and heavy love affair. And look what it got me, I think, opening up my eyes and looking down at the baby in my arms.

"What are you grinning about?" John calls from the kitchen.

"You know, you'd get that done a lot faster if you'd stop staring at us," I respond.

He chuckles, but turns back to the task at hand. A few minutes later, he slips onto the couch next to Meg and I.

"Did you get it all put away?"

"Yeah … slave driver," he mutters under his breath.

"What?" I ask with a laugh.

"Making me do all this work on my birthday."

"Yeah, putting the groceries away must have really wore you out."

"It did." He yawns as if to prove it and lays his head down on the couch next to where I'm resting mine. "You never told me what was making you so happy before."

"Oh. Uh … nothing. Everything. Meg. You."

"Me?" He sounds surprised.

"Yeah. Actually I was thinking about when we first got together."

"There's that grin again. What kind of wicked thoughts are you thinking?"

"Hmm … I was just thinking that since Meg's been born … well, the last time I spent this much time taking off and putting on clothes was when we were in the whole honeymoon stage."

"When we couldn't keep our hands off each other?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I hadn't thought about it, but I guess it's true. And since Meg's been born, I've certainly seen more of your boobs than I have since that honeymoon stage."

"Sometimes I think I shouldn't even bother putting on a shirt."

"I could get behind that. Of course, it would have been a little weird last week with Eric and Maggie here. And I'm not sure how everyone would react tonight if you showed up topless."

"They probably wouldn't notice … you know all anyone is going to pay any attention to is Meg. And maybe the food. But mostly Meg."

"Great. It's my birthday, and I'm being upstaged by a one-week-old."

"Well, she can't help it that she's cuter than you."

"Yes, but I'm a better conversationalist."

"True. But she's really getting good at this whole sleep thing. She's got that down."

"Is she asleep again?"

"Almost."

"Can I take her?" he asks, reaching out his arms.

"Well … since it's your birthday …"

"Hi, jelly bean," he says as he takes her in his arms. Her eyes open up slowly, but she doesn't cry. She seems very calm and content, and her father holds her out in front of us where we can both study her.

"Are you having a good birthday so far?" I ask, laying my head down on his shoulder.

He glances over at me briefly before turning back to Meg. "Are you serious? Of course. It's the best birthday ever. All because of you and Meg. Isn't that right, Meg? Yeah, it's all because of you. Yeah, that's my girl." He's smiling down at the baby, using his best baby-talk voice. I look at her looking up at him, enthralled by the sound of his voice or whatever she can see of the exaggerated grin on his face. I reach out and stroke her soft hair.

"Yeah, you made this a very happy birthday," John croons at our baby girl. And then, with no warning whatsoever, Meg looks up at her daddy … and smiles. A real smile. Not an I've-got-gas grimace that looks a lot like a smile, but an actual smile. Suddenly we are snapped out of our sleepy daze and brought to attention.

"Did you see that?" I ask him, knowing full well that he did.

"She smiled. At us."

"I know." Amazing.

"Isn't she too young to be smiling?"

"I guess not," I say with a laugh. "Wow. She's happy. You're happy, aren't you, Meggie?" I rub her cheek gently and she turns her head toward me. "Oh, pumpkin … you smiled for your daddy on his birthday. Oh ..."

"Aww, don't cry, Abby," John says noticing my voice breaking and the sniffling I'm doing. He wraps his free arm around me and pulls me close. "Don't worry Meg, Mommy's okay. She's just happy."

"That's right, sweetie. I'm just so glad that your first smile was today. Yeah, that's a good girl, giving Daddy such a nice gift. So many firsts, today, huh? And we'll never forget them since they were all on such a special day, will we? Nooo … " I lean down and kiss her forehead, and when I pull away, she suddenly smiles again, kicking her feet against her father's chest. "She really is happy."

"Yes, she is," he agrees. "I didn't think it would happen so fast."

"Meg smiling? Neither did I."

"No. My wish coming true."

"What?"

"This morning. The candle in the pancakes. I wished the same thing I'll wish for the rest of my life … that Meg will be happy. And she is."

"Oh. Now you're gonna make me cry," I say looking up at him all teary-eyed.

"No crying on my birthday," he says.

"They're good tears."

"I know."

We fall into a comfortable silence then, just watching Meg who suddenly yawns … a full body yawn, we like to call it, where her mouth opens wide as all her limbs stretch out as and then contract in, wrapping tight around her body.

"It's naptime, huh Meggie?" he daddy whispers to her, moving her into the cozy crook of his arm.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," I say from where I'm curled up in the cozy crook of his other arm. I snuggle up a little closer, reaching one hand over to rest lightly on the baby. Such a tiny little person who has changed our lives so much in such a short time. Our hopes, our dreams, our birthday wishes all wrapped up in this bundle of joy we call Meg. She's made this birthday unlike any other, and, I realize suddenly, this is just the beginning. There's still much more to come.


End file.
